Guy #165 – Two Guys, some drugs and a whirlpool…

Imagine for a second a universe that is truly infinite. Picture yourself traversing the cosmos for an eternity and more without reaching an end, only finding an infinite number of galaxies, stars and planets.
If the universe is really infinite that means the atoms that make up my body, my friends, my Guys, my home, my planet and my solar system are organized in a way that, given enough infinity, will repeat itself somewhere. In an infinite universe the events that created Earth, its oceans and the cycle of life that eventually led to my existence will inevitably happen elsewhere as well.

Sure, the odds of me ever happening were one in a googillion to begin with, but that’s the great thing about infinity: You never run out of the stuff. Somewhere, an uncountable number of light-years away from this Earth, floats another Earth just like this one, with another me, just like me.

So if a Guy sits down next to me in a whirlpool it is perfectly okay to feel him up to see if he’d be interested in having sex with me. In an infinite universe, it is a mathematical certainty that out there, somewhere and sometime, atoms will organize themselves in such a way that different yet totally identical versions of me and this Guy will meet up in a whirlpool under exactly the same circumstances. If I get rejected, I can always take solace in the fact my distant counterpart might have more luck.

In an infinite universe there is no such thing as true consequence. Everything has already happened and everything will happen again. That’s just how infinity works.

It’s thought trains such as these that wash away my sense of insecurity as if it’s tooth decay in a Colgate commercial. When your mind is pondering the wonders of infinity and the possible reality of there being an endless number of me’s in galaxies far, far away, groping a Guy in a whirlpool becomes such a mundane undertaking you can’t be bothered to doubt yourself doing it. You just do it.

I had no way of knowing what Guy #165 was thinking of when I started touching him, but I intuitively felt he shared my sense of wonder. The mere scope of the universe contrasting with the banality of two Homo sapiens going to third base in a whirlpool offers a person such clarity I wonder why people don’t call it Clarity instead of XTC.

Yeah.

Perhaps I should have mentioned I was on XTC the night I felt up Guy #165. As was he. As were all the people surrounding us. The odds of Guy #165 and me thinking the same thing were, again, one in a googillion, but emotionally we were on one and the same page and easily able to carry our make-out session on the wave of empathy that is XTC.

When you’re on XTC, you just ‘get’ people. You see their strengths, their weaknesses and most of all their humanity. Add some nakedness, some poppers and a space filled with a few hundred other naked Guys and before you know it you find yourself at the bar grabbing condoms from a bowl, enjoying the fact you live in a country where gays can celebrate their sexuality loud enough for the universe to hear it.

Guy #165 and I would celebrate our little cosmic connection in a lounge area occupied by a few dozen couples doing the very same thing. I thoroughly enjoyed his company and the sex with him was everything I had come for that night: Closeness without having to get close.

When I took a closer look at Guy #165 I felt sorry for him not being entirely attractive, even though his imperfections could have been the very thing I would have liked about him had I been sober.

I actually ran into Guy #165 about half a year later when I was in fact sober. We both ignored each other and I imagine he was as fine with pretending to be strangers as I was. I did take one more look at him and figured that, if the universe truly is infinite, an infinite number of me’s must be out there, wondering what the hell we were thinking the moment we groped up Guy #165.


DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #164 – Attractiveness means nothing. And everything.

Here’s the thing with being attractive: It doesn’t really mean anything. And it means everything.

Attractiveness is a conflict in and of itself.

In many ways I feel I’ve been blessed with my looks, as I generally receive decent amounts of attention from Guys.

At the same time I get rejected all the time. While it’s impossible to dive into the mind of others to acquire their perspective on me, the general assumption is that people who reject me do so because they don’t find me attractive enough to have sex with.

So whenever I go to a place where my merit is measured by my looks I’m a walking conflict, blessed with attention and burdened with the few I don’t get it from.

I should add that, even though I’m a hunter, I am unbelievably bad at picking up Guys. I try to be smooth about it, hitting up Guys as if I’m Joey from FRIENDS. But no matter how hard I try to be a Joey, a Ross or even a Chandler, I always end up a Gunther somehow.

The result is that I mostly depend on people hitting on me to get laid.

And I don’t get hit on very often.

Being a hunter who’s barely hunted himself, I sometimes go through endless nights of futile attempts to get intimate with someone. Sometimes I go for hours without a successful hook-up. Attractiveness means nothing, but after hours of nothingness I generally start to question my looks, thinking that maybe I’ve been overrating myself all these years, that Guys have sex with me out of pity as often as I have pity sex with them. The more unattractive I feel, the more important a feature it becomes.

So when Guy #164 started chasing me down our little gay sauna maze I was at first relieved. Then I took a look at him. Attractiveness means nothing, but it also means everything. In the case of Guy #164 I considered him unattractive enough to reject. Having sex with him, I figured, would only help to lower my market value even more. Even less than wanting to have sex with him, I didn’t want other people to see me having sex with him. Allowing Guy #164 to go down on me would be like having a white trash family exchange their trailer for a mansion. Guy #164 would be the Trump to my White House.

When Guy #164 first reached for my testicles I pushed his hands back and walked away. Guy #164 however persisted, following me and trying to push me against a wall several times. I hated him for it, but at the same time I couldn’t help but enjoy that feeling of being wanted. Gunther doesn’t get to feel like that very often.

So I took a closer look at Guy #164 and decided that, although I don’t have a thing for Guys with beards, at least this beard was kind enough to cover his face.

Guy #164 and I had sex for about ten minutes. He seemed to be enjoying it. I enjoyed the fact at least one person found me attractive.

“Can I have your phone number?” Guy #164 asked me when I interrupted the sex for the sake of not having it anymore.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Please, you’re so beautiful.”
Even though I felt I was way above Guy #164’s league, he was the only one that night to tell me I was pretty. It felt good to hear, while at the same time I resented the compliment for coming from a Guy I couldn’t give it to in return.
“We’ll let fate decide if we ever meet again,” I said, the second time I used that line to distance myself from someone without it having to be a cold hearted rejection.

I walked out on Guy #164, took a shower, and went home quickly.

When I started writing about every Guy I ever had sex with I was very much under the impression love and sex are inseparable. Even Guys that cruise, Guys who frequent places so dark rejection and passion are evenly secluded from the outside, Guys who spend their weekends doing drugs and hunting for mating partners, are in it for love, even if they say it’s just sex.
“Every Guy you see here is looking for love,” I once proclaimed to Guy #168 when I ran into him at the same sauna I met #164.
“Every Guy you see here is looking to love himself,” Guy #168 reasoned, a small but probably just distinction.

I never had sex with Guy #164 because I wanted to love him. Instead, he allowed me to love myself a little. And then, being the wonderful Guy that I am, I resented him for it and walked out on him.

Attractiveness means nothing. And everything.


Guy #163 – Being a dominant kiss-ass…

Being a psychologist who spends a lot of time in places where gays get naked, I see insecurity the way that kid from The Sixth Sense sees dead people: Insecurity is everywhere. It doesn’t know it’s insecure, although in the end it kind of does and for some reason I feel it’s my duty to help those with insecurities face their issues so they may overcome them and move on.

I like saying nice things to people. Sure I do it because I want them to like me, but mostly it’s a conscious effort to let people know that insecurities are like birth marks in the sense that everybody has them in places we don’t want them.

In short, I love making Guys with abs feel good about themselves.

Guy #163 had terrific abs. In fact, his entire body was more than could be summed up in one compliment. Also, I quickly noticed how Guy #163 felt insecure about himself. We met up at his place, where the air of arousal got perturbed by his constant restlessness. I offered him a few sips of a joint I had brought, but as it turns out people with ADHD become more like people with ADHD when they slow their brains down. The weed rendered Guy #163 unable to sit still for more than a few seconds.

Although I was in the mood for some conversation as a means to make the sex more interesting, Guy #163 and I soon got physical. I suppose it was the most sensible thing to do. Guy #163 clearly lacked the inner calm to carry a conversation and I was too high to carry it for the both of us.
During sex, Guy #163 remained somewhat frantic, occasionally checking if everything was in place. The only moment I could focus on our sex was when I positioned myself as the dominant factor in our little one-night stand. It was in that moment Guy #163 managed to let go a little and ride his high the way it was intended.

The thing is, I only like being dominant when the other Guy fights it, not when it’s blithely accepted. Being dominant with someone who immediately allows you to is akin to the bad Guy dying at the start of a movie or starting sex with an orgasm: It puts the reward before the effort.

So I did what I figured was the right thing: I started giving compliments, hoping to put Guy #163 at ease and only as I write this down do I realize how odd it must have been for him to be dominated by a kiss-ass.

I praised Guy #163 for his body and hotness. I told him I’d wanted him the moment I first laid eyes on him.

It wasn’t long before the sex was over.

I however wasn’t done upping my date’s ego. Even as he secluded himself to his bathroom to take a shower did I practically yell at him, letting him know how gorgeous he was.

“You should really stop saying how beautiful I am all the time,” Guy #163 said as he returned from his shower.
“Why?” I asked surprised. I couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to receive a compliment. I love it when someone tells me I’m beautiful. How could anyone not?
“It takes away the tension,” Guy #163 said.

Oddly enough, I was both surprised and empathetic. Sex without tension indeed is like Will & Grace without Jack & Karen, but do we really need insecurites to create that tension? Do we need doubt to make sex interesting? Guy #163, despite his insecurities, seemed absolutely certain that we do.

I was reluctant to accept the fact my kind words were not well received. At the same time I couldn’t help but agree with Guy #163: Repeatedly saying how beautiful he was didn’t appear to make him feel more beautiful, at least not in the way he wanted to be beautiful.

I guess compliments are like orgasms: They’re more rewarding the harder you work for them. Silly me handing out orgasms for free.

Guy #163 and I would occasionally run into each other after our date, but sex between the two of us never again materialized, nor do I think either one of us wanted it to. My dominant self had killed all the tension by being a kiss-ass.

Shame, because Guy #163 had the most amazing abs.


Guy #160 and #161 – 9 minute 20 second relationships

According to PornHub the average human being visits their site for 9 minutes and 20 seconds.

Think about it. Isn’t it the greatest statistic in the history of statistics? That’s 9 minutes and 20 seconds between pressing Play and grabbing Kleenex.

9 minutes and 20 seconds is all the time we invest in porn stars as they go down on their routine, after which we casually dismiss them from our lives as if they have no meaning whatsoever.

Coincidentally, I’ve had relationships that lasted this long. I’ve known people I dismissed as soon as I was done with them. Guys #253 and #254 were among those whose life I walked out of the moment they had served their purpose. I met both of them last weekend. Both gave me a quick fix, after which I practically couldn’t bare to be with them.

When I started this blog I advocated the view that anyone looking for sex is looking for love. Yet last weekend I met two Guys, used them for bodily pleasure and then left them to their own devices as if they were homeless people asking for change.

I wasn’t always this heartless.

In fact, a little over a year ago I bumped into Guy #160. The place we were at allowed for sex to occur mere feet from where we met. Guy #160 wasn’t exactly pretty, but I was flattered by how much he wanted me. Even though I was about a foot taller than this little Asian fellow, he insisted he was only top. I always find it a bit awkward to bend over for a Guy smaller than me, but I remember being very much okay with anything Guy #160 set his mind to. It wasn’t really the sex I was after. Instead, I enjoyed the cuddling and kissing way more than I did those few seconds he frantically tried getting his Asian penis to turn Black-ish.
Cuddling and kissing would prove to be the peak of our relationship.

It wasn’t my intention however to end the relationship the moment Guy #160 couldn’t get it up. He seemed like a nice Guy, someone I’d enjoy cuddling up with and getting to talk to for the remainder of the night. However, as soon as Guy #160 had gathered his stuff, a towel, a flask of poppers and a barely used condom, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and took off, never to be seen or heard from again.

It’s not that we had established any sort of connection I deemed worthy of celebrating, but it did make me feel slightly empty inside to see Guy #160 take off like that, almost as if he didn’t want me to be a memory.

Things went slightly better with Guy #161, who I met not long afterward. Sexually speaking Guy #161 was that night’s winner, though of course the competition had been anything but stiff. Actually, the sex with Guy #161 was better only in terms of how closely we resembled a porn scene. The nine minutes we spent in our cabin surely must have been a nice sight had there been anyone to see us, but our little sex ritual fell short of offering me any sense of intimacy or bonding.

After we were done Guy #161 offered me to join him and his Asian friends, who were hanging out in a lounge area.
Guy #161 was a friendly person, sociable and welcoming, but beyond that he bored me to no end. He and his friends all spoke English as a second language and while their use of English far exceeded my proficiency in whatever language they grew up with, their current conversation was one of shallow oneliners and meaningless catchphrases. These people had obviously seen every episode of Sex and the City and to their credit their impressions of Samantha Jones were spot-on. I however didn’t feel entirely in place in the presence of Asian Guys pretending to be a 60 year old slut. It wasn’t the kind of connection I was looking for.

A few minutes into Samantha’s breast cancer storyline I excused myself and told Guy #161 I would walk around some more, which we both knew meant cruising the darker areas in search of more meat, which I wouldn’t find that night.

 

 

A year ago I would proudly tell people about my blog and how it ‘proved’ love and sex are inseparable. Often Guys would look at me as if I don’t know how Guys work, that male sexuality prescribes we spread seed and not raise it into anything worth mentioning outside the walls of a gay sauna. Yet even though I was fully aware of how shallow my encounters with Guys like #160 and #161 had been, I wholeheartedly tried to establish at least some form of human bond between us. Granted, I didn’t try very hard, but at least I made some effort to live my sex life according to my belief that love and sex are like Batman and Robin, or at the very least Batman and Alfred…not Batman and the Joker.

A year ago I didn’t yet know why Guys joked about my ideas on love and sex, which is why I felt disappointment when Guy #160 walked out on me or when I walked out of Guy #161.

Last weekend I met two Guys. I had sex with both of them. They clearly wanted to hang around with me, but I couldn’t be bothered. I gave both a quick kiss on the cheek and wished them luck with the rest of their lives.

So did I become heartless? Or did I give too much heart to a place that has so little?

A lot can happen in a year.

You should read about it in my upcoming book.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can guess where this is headed.

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

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

Cut to us a few minutes later:

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

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

And that’s when things get frantic.

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

Naturally, the laws of physics defy me.

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

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

Cut to us another few minutes later:

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

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

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

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


Guy #158 – Dumped by an angel…

It was January 1st 2016, 4 a.m. I had spent the night before celebrating New Year at a party at a friend of a friend’s house, gobbling up the free wine as if there was no tomorrow. The place was Amsterdam, the city that never sleeps for a good two days a year, one of those being January 1st.

Generally speaking I’m not a big fan of the holiday season. I mostly like New Year’s celebrations because they announce the cessation of the generically merry festivities December is known for. So when the party at my friend’s friend’s place was starting to die off, I decided to try my luck at the local gay sauna, because surely there’s no place to not celebrate the season than at a gay sauna, a sentiment felt by many gay people, as the place was packed.

This particular night the sauna was filled with so many cute Guys I instantly knew I would start the new year on a positive note, something I was in need of at the time. I had just finished writing my first novel entitled The Super Secret Diary of a Young Dictator and had already received a few rejection letters from publishers who didn’t consider it the War and Peace of our time. I knew I wanted to be a writer, but I had no idea how I would go about selling myself as one.

As I scoured that night’s sauna looking for someone to up my ego through means of anal I enjoyed the many luscious looks I was getting. When I went to the bar to get a drink I found myself standing next to a somewhat cute looking Guy who at sight of me started caressing my chest with a heartwarming familiarity that won me over instantly. I knew this was far from the cutest Guy I could lay my hands on that night, but I reasoned having some fun with him could serve as a nice appetizer for other Guys to come.

And so it happened this Guy became Guy #158, my first lover of 2016. We secluded ourselves to the darker corners of our already secluded venue, where we had lovely sex that eventually flowed into lovely conversation. Guy #158 told me about himself. He was an American artist who was currently traveling the world, going from one exhibition to the next, selling his work, doing what he loves and getting laid in pretty much every time zone. It wasn’t long before I realized Guy #158 was living the life I wanted to live.

Hoping to get some valuable life lessons I told Guy #158 about my predicament. I specifically mentioned I considered it meaningful to start off the new year doing someone who was living my dream: writing, traveling and getting laid. Guy #158 told me about the importance of marketing myself and that I couldn’t reasonably expect to be successful if I didn’t put myself out there the way I usually only do when I’m at a gay sauna. It was at this point Guy #158 suggested I self publish my book. Up till then I had not considered the fact we live in a time where we can post anything we do online, including entire books.

Guy #158 and I had a great time together and I was very appreciative of his wisdom, so when he suggested we’d leave the sauna and finish the holiday season in his hotel room, I immediately said ‘Yes’, looking forward to spending the day in bed with someone I felt absolutely at ease with while at the same time getting valuable career advice.

The two of us quickly got dressed and met up at the sauna’s checkout counter. Guy #158 was the first one to walk through, followed by myself a few seconds later.

That’s when things turned eerie.

When I stepped outside Guy #158 was all but gone. I found myself in a small alley that stretched a good 50 meters in both directions, but couldn’t see Guy #158 anywhere. Feeling a bit stupid I asked the bouncer if he had seen anyone come out in front of me. He said he hadn’t, empathetically but also with little interest for my social life, almost as if ‘No’ was the only answer at his disposal, him being a bouncer and all.

I waited in said alley for about ten minutes, doubting everything that had just happened. Guy #158 seemed to have vanished into thin air. At first I figured that maybe he was still inside, which is why I waited for him to come out. Yet in my mind I had a very clear memory of him leaving the sauna mere seconds before I did. Did he suddenly change his mind and ran off? Surely no human being could cover 50 meters in mere seconds after receiving the amount of anal I had just given this one. And if the bouncer had seen someone running away wouldn’t he have told me? Besides, why would Guy #158 have disappeared on me? We’d been having a good time. He had even told me how good he felt in my company.

Nothing made sense.

I felt like a bit of a loser, standing in the cold at 6 a.m. on January 1st, alone and completely at odds with everything that had just happened. Part of me questioned if Guy #158 had been real. The way he had disappeared lacked a rational explanation.
After enduring the cold for about ten minutes, not to mention the increasingly annoying stares of the bouncer who didn’t like me standing in front of his entrance as if I had no life to speak of, I made my way to the train station, disillusioned, disappointed and with less ego than the year before. The only thing offering solace was the career advice I had been given. While I’m usually not too keen on attributing the unexplainable to the paranormal, that’s what my whole affair with Guy #158 had come to feel like.

A few weeks later I published my book on Amazon and ventured into the ins and outs of book marketing. Guy #158 to me had become an apparition of sorts. I’m still not 100% sure he was real, that’s how unreal his disappearance had been. The theory best fitting my senses is that Guy #158 was an angel from above, sent to inspire me to get my life on track.

Since its publication The Super Secret Diary of a Young Dictator went on to sell a staggering 30 copies.

So yeah, I probably got stood up by a Guy at 6 a.m. on January 1st.
Or, at best, I got stood up by an angel.


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

Porn.

How I used to love it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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

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

People at orgies always have the most fascinating backstories.

One shouldn’t underestimate the power of XTC.

 


 

 

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #152 and #153 – Gay dating and the true meaning of the word ‘No’…

As is to be expected from a gay Guy over 30, rejection is an integral part of my daily routine. After all, most 20 year olds believe there was a time I roamed the Earth with dinosaurs.
I rarely initiate a conversation with anyone on Grindr, but when I do it’s usually with someone younger and in my opinion cuter than me. Sometimes I am successful. Other times not so much.

I do however maintain one very simple rejection policy: If a Guy ignores me or tells me he’s not into me, I will not hit up that same person again. Ever. I simply don’t enjoy rejection enough to make a habit of it, which is hard enough as it is when you’re a gay Guy over 30.

Equipped with a reasonably good looking body and a not at all unattractive face by dinosaur standards, I spend quite some time rejecting people as well. Most Guys that hit me up are old enough to have experienced the last ice age. Some are even over 40!

My policy for rejecting is akin to the one for rejection. When I have no interest in someone, I either ignore them completely or, if they’ve taken the effort to say something nice, I tell them politely, with a smiley to ease the pain. This too I do only once.

And that’s where things get interesting. And irritating.

For reasons I often wonder about the gay scene is riddled with Guys who don’t take No for an answer. In fact, it seems perfectly normal for people of all ages to keep sending me the same opening line, the same dick pic, the same ass pic and the same grainy face pic over and over and over again. My dating apps are filled with hundreds of unread messages.

It baffles me why someone would set himself up for rejection at regular intervals. No means no, does it not?

Well…

One night, as I was aching for some fun in a gay sauna, someone reached for my testicles. Up till that moment it had been a slow night for me. I had seen some Guys I fancied, but all of them had avoided me as one would a T-Rex. Still, the Guy currently grabbing my testicles was by no means the kind of prey I had given up my night’s sleep for, so I pushed his hand back the way it came and proceeded walking as if I had somewhere else to be.
To my annoyance, said testicle grabber went in pursuit of me and it wasn’t long before he started touching me again. When I turned around to say something about it I was greeted by a friendly, slightly desperate, but nevertheless inviting smile, and I started thinking: Maybe I should lower my ridiculously high standards. Maybe this Guy is the universe’s way of telling me I need to learn how to settle. Granted, the string of rejections that had preceded our encounter no doubt fueled my lenient attitude, as I empathized with this Guy and his not exactly pretty face but not at all half bad body that could have been less gross were it not for its random snippets of chest hair.

No one likes to reject someone. Rejecting the same person twice is even harder. And my ego wasn’t going strong that night.

So I listened to my frail ego, which I often mistake for the universe trying to tell me stuff. The Guy I had rejected before now became Guy #152. I don’t really remember what we did exactly, except that it was brief and heartless, and in many ways still a form of rejection. Afterward, Guy #152 asked for my phone number, to which I said I wasn’t sure if we’d be seeing each other again. He pointed out the odds of us seeing each other again would be bigger if he had my phone number. To settle the issue of us ever seeing each other again, I gave Guy #152 a kiss on the cheek and told him we’d let fate decide if and when we’d meet again. The universe hasn’t brought us together since.

Feeling regret over the fact I had committed pity sex because I once again mistook my ego for the universe I found myself in a steam room later that night, where Guy #153 came out of nowhere and pushed his penis into my mouth. I angrily pushed him away and turned my head down, a rejection as obvious as they come.
Still, Guy #153 was undeterred, almost as if he could see my insecurities and subsequent lack of defenses. As if me rejecting him hadn’t just happened he donaldtrumped his way to my lips once more and stuck his penis in between them with a sense of entitlement that would have gotten me mad on any other day, but when I looked up to take a look at the Guy I was now more or less giving it to, I saw that his face might have been somewhat attractive had it not been for his beard. Maybe the universe was talking to me again. After all, why else would I be aroused by Guy #153’s dominance?

The arousal lasted for about five seconds, after which I realized I was only susceptible to dominance because I so happened to lack a backbone. The very thing that turned me on I now resented, so I pushed back Guy #153 a second time and said: “You’re welcome,” referring to the 5 second blowjob I had just given him. Guy #153 laughed, this time accepting the rejection, and went on his way.

No means no, but a lot of gay Guys continue making endless efforts to turn a no into a yes of sorts. I guess it makes sense: When sex becomes a commodity, most people set up camp in the gray area, whether they’re rejected or the one doing the rejecting.

Counting on people’s lack of self esteem seems to be a genuine hunting strategy, online and elsewhere. That’s why I have hundreds of unread Grindr messages that keep piling up, because people anticipate the day my ego renders me defenseless.

Defenseless, or older than 40. Whichever comes first.

 


 

 




 

 


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Relationship summary:

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

Guy #149 – The most forgettable of them all…

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

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

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

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

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

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

So was there anything wrong with Guy #149?

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

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

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

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

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


Relationship summary:

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

Guy #148 – Three out of three…

If planet Earth houses 7 billion people, it’s safe to say a few hundred million of those people are Guys who enjoy mating with other Guys.

On the other hand, of all the hundreds of millions of gay Guys this planet has to offer, frustratingly few of them set up camp on remote tropical paradises.

Life in the Caribbean was nice, but after spending a total of seven years under the sun I was drawn back to a gayer place: Home. I had spent some time in the Netherlands over the years, dating Guys here and there, but I had never settled there as a gay person. The last time I truly lived in my home country had been nearly ten years prior, around the time I ‘clumsied’ around with Guys #1 through #4.

So I moved back home and went online, only to discover something: Local gay scenes are often small, libido driven hamlets where everybody knows your name if not your selfie. Though known for its lustrous gay life, most people I met in Amsterdam were already a friend of a Facebook friend.

Guy #148 was no exception.

The first time I learned of Guy #148’s existence was when Guy #108 befriended me. Going over Guy #108’s wall I saw many pictures of him with two other guys. One of those Guys would later become Guy #130 and the other one was Guy #148.

So when Guy #148 and I got in touch online I already knew two of his best friends. That feeling people supposedly have when they get to yell Bingo, that’s the feeling I was chasing when I suggested the two of us meet up for a drink.

While I showed interest in Guy #148 during our date, I don’t remember a single thing we talked about. I do remember him showing some reluctance in getting physical. That worried me a little. If you’ve done two out three stooges it just seems silly to not get horizontal with the third.

So I got tactical.

I entertained my date by means of doing interesting conversation stuff, asking questions, making him feel at home, validated…until the time had come no more trains were leaving Amsterdam.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘we’ve been talking for so long, I lost track of time. I don’t mean to intrude, but I kind of need a place to sleep.’

And so Guy #148 offered me to spend the night in his bed, where we exchanged mildly satisfying sexual favors for about fifteen minutes before going to sleep.

Bingo. Three out of three.

Things weren’t exactly romantic when we woke up next morning. I saw little reason to continue treating Guy #148 as if I found him interesting, and on some level he must have felt he was no more than a score card.

We parted ways way before breakfast and never spoke to each other again. We didn’t even become Facebook friends.

It’s not that I didn’t find Guy #148 interesting. I remember he was. I know for a fact I really enjoyed our conversation. I just hadn’t flown back home to have a conversation. I had flown back to consume the gay scene I had left behind nearly ten years earlier. Guy #148 was simply the first familiar face on a long list of semi-familiar faces, friends of familiar faces and the occasional actual new face.

While I never considered my years in the Caribbean a waste of time, I was now ready to finally enjoy gay life to the full, which, considering I already had sex with 147 Guys, seems like a bit of a spoiled attitude, which it was, which is probably why Guy #148 didn’t bother to make me breakfast.

Come to think of it, ever since I moved back to the Netherlands I probably consumed more Guys than breakfasts.

At the time of Guy #148 I didn’t know it, but I still had so much to learn.

Lucky for me there are a few hundred million Gay guys on the planet.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night stand, but mostly just a sleepover
SEX SCORE (0 = The concept of Facebook friends <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #147 – Pretty woman…

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

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

Cut to me, some twenty years later:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Relationship summary:

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

Guy #146 – Why do gay saunas have to be so dark?

Why do gay saunas have to be so dark?

Dimly lit hallways, faint beams of light at waist level, the air of horniness interwoven with the smell of poppers… It’s the perfect environment to show off one’s gym hours without having to truly reveal one’s self. In other words: Darkness carries both truth and lies further than light tends to.

Gay saunas are places people go to hide as much as they go to hunt. I suppose darkness facilitates both.
I for one go to gay saunas because I like to shine. Sure I aim to find someone porkable, but beneath that is a Guy who just wants to feel loved, something I believe is true for anyone who has pork on the menu. Wanting to shine is just my narcissistic translation for wanting to be loved.

Even though I am insecure about my looks as any pig would be, I know I’m generally considered attractive. The main reason Guys keep their distance is because they’re shy. Being shy myself, I pretend not to look at other people as much as people pretend not to look at me.
Darkness is a contributing factor in all of that and if I’m being completely honest, darkness is where I too shine the most, unhampered by the hassle of facial contact that often lies on the road to getting laid.

Still, if it were up to me I would prefer to meet people where I can see them.

Guy #146 taught me that.

I first saw Guy #146 as he entered the steam cabin I was just leaving. The very definition of cruising dictates one doesn’t make any sudden course adjustments. When you cruise, you cruise, always acting as if you have a destination to be at. Even though Guy #146 and I first saw each other going in opposite directions, me turning around and following him would have been too desperate. Even in a place where it’s just about sex, desire is best expressed in subtleties.

Guy #146 being hot looking in every sense of the word I positioned myself in a sauna that came with a view to the steam room my prey had just entered. There I sat, quietly waiting as one does at a bus stop, until Guy #146 left his steamy quarters. From there he disappeared into a dark alley full of hunters such as myself.

I went in pursuit.

‘Pursuit’ in this case meant navigating myself through a handful of crotch grabbing elderly men as quickly and quietly as I could, until I got Guy #146 in my sight again. My walking speed being well above the cruising limit I knew my intentions were now out in the open. If I wanted a chance with this Guy, I would have to sell my quick pace as an act of assertion, so I did. I stumbled toward Guy #146 and gently caressed his shoulder, not exactly a move befitting the top I wanted to be, but in that moment I was happy enough to have overcome my shyness.

My approach felt clumsier and more out of place than a 747 landing on an aircraft carrier. Assertive, sure, but far from gracious. As such, it came as a surprise Guy #146 replied to my improvisational assertiveness by grabbing my balls and kissing me. Having trouble believing my luck I immediately followed suit by pushing Guy #146 toward the nearest available cabin, kissing him all the way.

It wasn’t until Guy #146 and I had removed our towels and were lying next to each other on a sweaty mattress that I discovered Guy #146 had chest hair, something he didn’t have a few minutes before at that steam room. It took me about two seconds to do the math: The Guy I was sharing a cabin with was not Guy #146. I mean, technically this was the 146th Guy I was having sex with, but not my intended target.

I had accidentally captured the wrong Guy. Somewhere in my pursuit the Guy I was chasing had eloped me, only to be replaced by someone whose hairdo, body, length and posture seemed similar in what little light we were granted.

Which begs the question: Why do gay saunas have to be so dark?

It’s the question that went through my mind as I halfheartedly had sex with Guy #146. Even though this Guy was nowhere near as cute the one I’d been chasing, I remember him being a good enough kisser. That at least made up for some of his chest hair.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling of having failed, probably because that’s exactly what I had done as far as the hunt was concerned. Guy #146 and I ended up spending no more than five minutes together. Falling comfortably within the realm of courtesy in a gay sauna, I simply stopped having sex and left Guy #146 alone in his cabin, telling him I needed to be in a brighter place.

The day I accidentally fooled around with Guy #146 would mark the last time I exceeded the cruising speed limit. I also picked up the habit of checking out Guys at the bar before chasing them through dark corridors filled with the scent of poor judgment.

Darkness had allowed me to chase a Guy. Darkness had allowed me to make a move. Darkness got me intimate with someone. In turn, Guy #146 would never have gotten close to my testicles had it not been for darkness. Darkness goes hand in hand with intimacy. Darkness smoothes seduction. Darkness is social lubricant.

I guess darkness is part of the compromise inherent to the concept of a gay sauna. It’s a place where the things we don’t reveal about ourselves carry as much weight as the wrinkles that do show. I’d be lying if I said the darkness doesn’t make me feel safe and secure.

The cute Guy I had my eyes on at first? I ran into him later that night, as I sat down in a whirlpool, inches away from his personal space. I made a move, but my hand was shoved back the way it came.

That’s another thing. Rejection is very bearable under the cover of darkness. I look for darkness to shine, and when I don’t, when I turn dark inside, there’s no one to witness it.

Thank god gay saunas are so dark.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 minutes
FORMAT: Mistake
SEX SCORE (0 = Hair when you don’t expect it <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

 

 

Guy #145 – Look at me not being shallow!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler alert: #146 had abs.


Relationship summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Relationship summaries:

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

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

 

Do what I did. Start with Guy #1.

Guy #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.

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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 #9 – Hot guy. Disgusting roommate.

 

 


 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 


 

 

RELATIONSHIP SUMMARY:

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

 

 

Guy #5 – Grabbing myself by the balls…

 


 

 

December 25, 2007 was the only Christmas I ever spent alone.

You see, after having sex with a lesbian and four guys I met over the phone, I got my MSc. in Psychology and moved from the Netherlands, Europe to Suriname, South America.

I went from slowly tentacling my sexuality in a safe and familiar environment to being a socially phobic recluse in what I still considered to be a banana republic.

Throwing myself into such a lonely adventure has proven to be one of the best decisions I ever made, though. It forced me to grab myself by the balls once again to get me to overcome my fears.

After spending a year in hiding I finally made the decision I needed to have sex again. After a full year without any sex my virginity started growing back on me.
However, anonymous phone dating services were not a thing in Suriname as they were back in the Netherlands. I had to think of something different, something more daring.

I had to go out.

Religiously determined to go home with a guy, I dragged myself to the country’s only gay night club. I went alone. It petrified me, to stand at a bar in a place with people, all of whom could watch me, observe me, judge me and make fun of how desperately I was trying to look attractive. I could actually see people watching me. In banana republics with only one gay nightclub, no new face goes unnoticed, especially not a white one. They say social phobia only plays out in your head, but in this case I just knew: These people are watching me.

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I’ll admit I had some confidence issues at the time. I wasn’t even sure what I was really expecting to happen. How do hook-ups usually happen? How do people go from being total strangers to ending up in each other’s arms naked in the time span of just a few hours? I had no idea. But I did know one thing: I was going to go home with a guy. I just had to.

That was the night I met Guy #5.

When he walked in and saw me standing at the bar, he immediately walked up to me to say ‘hi’. His familiarity almost made me think we’d already met before, not at all unlikely in a country the size of Suriname. In fact, I even entered the conversation under the assumption I was talking to an acquaintance of sorts.

I would later find out Guy #5 has the innate quality to make others feel at home. By that time I had already decided the answer to the question Do I see myself doing do this guy tonight? was ‘yes’.

I don’t think I ever had a nightclub hook-up as smooth and easy as the one I had with Guy #5. One thing became clear right away: He wanted me and I was going to let him. I had a lot of fun going down that road together. It would be the first time I ever kissed a guy on a dance floor.

Apart from getting me back in touch with my sexuality, Guy #5 became a good friend who also got me in touch with other people. He gave me a social life in my new environment. Like I said, he’s good at making others feel at home. Sex with someone who makes you feel like that is never a bad thing.

Guy #5 taught me that.

 


 

Relationship summary:

Length: 7 years and counting
Format: On and off sex, followed by friendship that lasts till this day
Sex score (0 making out with an accordion and 10 being the best sex ever): 7,5