Guy #213 – Something something friendship something something double penetration…

I’m not good at making friends.

It’s because I don’t really like people, unless it’s people I like.

But to get to know people I like, I have to open myself up to all sorts of people. And on average I’m ambivalent to most people I open up to. As such, meeting people is a bit like tuning into LOST and hoping it won’t be another Jack-episode: a game of Russian roulette where disappointment hits you in the head when you kind of already expect it.

I first met Guy #213 in this gay sauna this one night, but nothing sexual materialized between the two of us.

He was a friend of a friend and also my ride home.

I didn’t think much of Guy #213 at first, nor did I think of having sex with him. He was just someone with a car at a time when I was in need of someone like that.

However, he was a friend of a friend. If you hang out with a friend, friends of your friends have a way of slipping into your social life.

Initially I felt uneasy, as I so often do with people I don’t know.

After all, I have nothing in common with people I don’t know, unless it’s people I know, but to find out if I have something in common with someone I don’t know, I have to get to know that person.

An awful lot of work.

But everyone who was already a friend of Guy #213 always spoke highly of him. So I did the most sensible and pragmatic thing: I decided to not let my innate disdain for strangers be a factor, and instead started to treat Guy #213 like a friend.

Sure enough, if you treat people like a friend, that’s what they become.

Who would’ve thought?

As is often the case among gay Guys who are just friends, sex is a pleasure shared as one would a pizza.

Especially if it’s the kind of friends you go to orgies with. The format of the relationship itself might not be sexual, but when you see someone having sex, you become part of their sex life. It’s arguably the single biggest blessing and curse of the gay scene.

About a year after first meeting Guy #213, he joined me and a friend of mine on a trip to a gay sauna, with the intention of hitting on other Guys and not each other. But as friends who go to gay saunas so often do, they stick together.

And so it happened me and Guy #213 ended up in a whirlpool together. Having shared orgy culture already, we had enough in common for touching each other in a whirlpool to be casual if nothing else. The blowjob that followed felt equally mundane.

Sure I was very much aware of the fact I was sexualizing a relationship with a friend whom I never had sex with before, but what’s wrong with that: getting a blowjob is hardly uncomfortable.

As time passed, Guy #213 and I came to see more and more of each other. We’d have fun at extravagant gay parties, but were equally in our comfort zone checking out cute Guys at the gym, or just having dinner together and talking about our jobs.

Stuff that friends do.

I’m not good at making friends. I’m fine meeting people in places where everybody is naked, but once the clothes come on I’m awkward, fairly judgmental, intolerant and not at all inclined to keep in touch with people I’ve had sex with.

Guy #213 proved to be an exception, and to date he’s been one of nicest people I ever met in a secluded, sexually laden setting and one of the few who went on to see me with my clothes on without it being weird.

The gay scene can be brutal and harsh, sexual freedom as liberating as it is unforgiving.
Having a friend who joins you at orgies is nice but lacking.
Having a friend who you have dinner with is lacking but nice.
Having a friend who does both is special to someone who, like me, sucks at making friends.

Guy #213 has become someone who I’d invite to my birthday and introduce to my family, where we would lie about how we met to aunts and uncles, and proudly refer nieces and nephews to this blog.

Oh, and then there was that time he unexpectedly double penetrated me during a threesome with Guy #262, the first and to date only time I’ve been on the receiving end of so much friendship. 

I’m not good at making friends, but I’d like to think I’m good with the ones I have.


Guy #208 and #209 – The twins…

Okay, so Guy #208 and #209 weren’t really twins. They were a couple.

They did however look very similar to me: similar mannerisms, similar bodies, similar height and stats, similar names and whenever I saw them I saw them together. I’ve come to think of them as twins because I can never remember which one is which.

It’s because I’m bad with names, and often also with people. So attaching the right names to the right people is a reluctant and challenging exercise for me.

When I meet someone in a setting where gay sex is the agreed upon end goal, I tend to focus on the sex part. Sure I can carry a conversation and even laugh at the appropriate moments, but when push comes to shove I have little sincere interest in people when they cross paths with me.

This may seem harsh.
And it is.
And I wasn’t always like that.
But attend enough orgies and eventually even the people you’re intimate with become replaceable like toothpicks.

I used to try to connect with people I met at orgies outside of orgies, but in most cases the friendship dried up when my libido did. Sober me is simply not a social person. Forging friendships is not my forte.

Although there was a certain sense of mutual attraction, I don’t think there was much sexual chemistry between me and Guy #208 and #209. But sometimes you find yourself at a party with naked people and before you know it you’re sharing a bathtub with the twins, where casual conversation eventually becomes a few blowjobs.

Whether my oral efforts were well received I will never know. I was fairly sleep deprived and as such coasted all the way to third base on autopilot. Consequently, I never made a real effort to remember which name belonged to which twin. There were just too many similarities between them.

The thing is I quite regularly run into them, at orgies, in clubs or even at everyday gay gatherings where the clothes don’t come off. Slowly they’re becoming part of my social life.

It’s great that I’m making friends.

It’d be nice to know their names though.

And the longer I postpone asking for it, the more awkward it will be.

I don’t like confrontation or communication, so what little communication I can’t avoid I use to avoid confrontation. Whenever I see the twins I treat them like any of my gay scene acquaintances, always making sure the conversation does not require me to know their names.

Basically, it’s hanging out with Bert and Ernie, without knowing who’s who. The only thing you do know is you played with one of their rubber duckies in a bathtub this one time.

That’s not a metaphor for anything, by the way. There really was a rubber duck in that tub for some reason.

Orgies are weird.

Of course I never ask either one who’s Bert and who’s Ernie. The question would make me look irreparably stupid. And the only thing I dislike more than communication or confrontation is making an ass of myself.

***

I started this post about a week ago. Incidentally I ran into the twins again last weekend. Seeing as I was writing a post about me not being a social human being I figured I’d make the effort for a change. The twins are genuinely nice Guys and there’s no reason for me not to validate that except for being an ass.

So I summoned the courage and bluntly asked who was who. They simply told me and didn’t seem offended.

Sadly though I was high last weekend. I remember them telling me their names. I just forgot which name goes where.

I’m the worst.


Guy #206 – That time I cried at an orgy…

When you fall in love with a Guy you meet at this drug infested orgy, and you only ever get to see him at drug infested orgies, and the only time you get to be with him is when both your highs are way above the legal limit, the only real relationship sprouting from that scenario is your relationship with reality.

My reality was as follows:

I fell in love with Guy #168 at this orgy this one time. He embodied the youth I had lost to a closet. My wish was not only to be by his side at orgies, but also to become friends without the nakedness of others. I wanted to get to know Guy #168 sober and find out he was the amazing Guy I fell in love with when we were both high.

I quickly got frustrated by the fact I could only ever meet him at orgies. The reason for this was simple: he had little to no interest in meeting me outside of this cocoon where gay orgies take place.

So I opted to believe an alternative reality, or as it’s commonly called: a fantasy.

My strategy for getting closer to Guy #168 was to chase a mirage I had created for myself: I searched the horizon for faint clues of him being madly in love with me, whilst ignoring the reality that was only apparent when I wasn’t high.

While high, I could easily fit every word, whisper, sigh, eye contact or even absence of contact into the narrative I wanted to believe: that, at least on some level, Guy #168 was into me and shared my feelings, that I was on his mind as much as he was on mine, and that he too wanted nothing more than to get to know the real me, that he too was aching to be with me on occasions that were not just orgies.

So when I ran into Guy #168 at this orgy again one day, it struck me as odd he arrived on the scene in the company of another Guy, an amazingly good looking one I instantly felt didn’t fit my preciously twisted narrative.

Part of me couldn’t blame Guy #168: the Guy that accompanied him was one of the hottest people I had ever seen in my life. One might even say he was hotter than Guy #168 himself.

Of course Guy #168 preferring someone even hotter than him didn’t fit my fantasy one bit, so I decided not to like his friend, regardless of how good looking and annoyingly charming he was.

As much as I tried not to give this Guy who was stealing my thunder any attention, it was all but impossible to pursue Guy #168 and ignore his friend at the same time. They were pretty much inseparable.

Then came the moment I was on my knees giving Guy #168 a blowjob, with his hot friend lined up next to him. I found myself in the awkward position of more or less having to perform oral on one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen and resenting every second of it.

So I went down on Guy #168 and his companion, making the latter Guy #206.

Orgy culture being what it is I should’ve felt blessed to be able to get my hands on someone as gorgeous as Guy #206, but my crush on Guy #168 rendered me jealous above anything else.

My guess is Guy #206 felt my resentment. I considered him the competition after all.
When you give a Guy a blowjob and your heart’s not in it, that tends to be noticeable. I was orally obligating my way through Guy #206 while being heartbroken over the fact he was kissing Guy #168 at the same time. The very act of giving it to Guy #206 shattered the reality I so much wanted to believe.

The chemistry to turn our gathering into a real threesome was lacking. I simply couldn’t bring myself to like Guy #206, and seeing him with Guy #168 only paralyzed me and what sexuality I had to offer.
So instead of focusing on the sex, I deemed it wise to show off my amazing sense of humor:
“So tell me, where do your parents think you are right now?” I asked Guy #206 mid-blowjob, showing him that what I lacked in looks I made up for in wit.
Sadly, neither Guy #168 nor #206 seemed to understand why on Earth someone would bring up the subject of parents during a blowjob, at an orgy.

What little eroticism we shared quickly dissolved in my attempt at being funny.
Guy #168 and #206 went away to be with other people, leaving me to fend for my own groove.

Instead of shifting my attention to other Guys, I could only quietly spy on Guy #168 and how he was giving all his attention to his friend, flaunting him in ways I had never been flaunted.

Even though I found myself in a house with about 30 horny homos, all open for business, I couldn’t get myself to strike up the slightest bond with any of them. My entire self confidence had become dependent on Guy #168. Without him validating my presence, I felt like a weird outsider.

Seeing Guy #168 living up the orgy lifestyle with Guy #206 and excluding me from it, I grew faintly suspicious that maybe, just maybe, Guy #168 didn’t see in me the man of his dreams.

It wasn’t exactly the reality I wanted to have a relationship with, so I quickly went through the 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness and more drugs.

The drugs, in this case a tender mix of XTC, GHB, ketamine, 2C-B, weed and the occasional laughing gas allowed me to cling to the reality I had come for, to believe that Guy #168 was into me and my awesomeness.

Little did I realize I was constantly testing my reality, and with it Guy #168’s patience, by demanding attention from him, constantly killing his groove by imposing mine. I noticed he was appreciating my presence less and less, which I remedied by forcing more of me into his personal space. We were at an orgy after all. He was someone who had given me attention this one time. I had given him and his way too attractive friend an amicable blowjob earlier.

While I was slightly aware of the fact I was pissing off Guy #168 in ever increasing dosages, I couldn’t get myself to back off. The drugs had lowered my inhibitions and any form of self control was now out the window: I just wanted to be with Guy #168 and relive the high we shared at our first orgy together. 

I guess I never stopped to think that drugs can bring out the worst in you when you can’t accept your relationship with reality.

Whenever I saw Guy #168 and his Guy #206, I would join their company, only for them to leave my presence as quickly as they could. At the time I thought my avances were subtle. Sure I could see Guy #168 and #206 rolling their eyes each time I appeared, I could see them whispering about me behind my back, I knew my hotness was declining with every bit they saw of me, but in my reality Guy #168 was into me.

If all of this is confusing to you, try having a go at it with six different drugs coursing through your system.

To simplify, I kept coming on to a Guy who treated his own space as if it was his to own. And the more he pushed me away, the harder I tried.

Cut to Guy #168 and #206 getting cosy with a third Guy. It hurt to see it transpire right in front of me: in a house filled with Guy #168 and 30 other Guys, I wasn’t even his second choice!

I suppose the potent mix of insecurity, denial and drugs convinced me it would be a good idea to impose myself once more, to turn a threesome without me into a foursome in which I would claim top billing.

So I did.

Or at least I tried to.

I sat down behind Guy #168 and his two friends and started massaging his shoulders, to which he responded with a deep, resonating sigh. Guy #206 started breathing angrily, no doubt pissed off at me for spending all my time trying to hit on Guy #168 at his expense.
A few seconds into my attempt Guy #168, #206 and their newfound friend got up and walked away, clearly not wanting to be with me.

This is painful I thought, but the drugs weighed it as one would a distant siren at night. I didn’t yet realize I was the one in pain.

So I went in pursuit of Guy #168, #206 and their hook-up. I rejoined them as they were smoking a cigarette. When I did, their annoyance had been replaced by disdain. I had pushed them to the point where they could no longer be polite.

As a result, they no longer made the effort to uphold my reality, instead exposing it for the fantasy it had always been.

It was the moment it hit me. Seemingly out of the blue reality washed over me, with me unable to hold on to my narrative, unable to escape what was real:

Guy #168 maybe kind of liked me, but I wasn’t special to him. Nothing about my behavior was subtle or sexy. I was being obnoxious, sad, clingy and worst of all, I was unwillingly revealing my true feelings. And in doing so I had been rejected from a threesome. I had exposed myself, my needy ego and my naked self, and all three were scoffed at, at an orgy.

The embarrassment flooded me to the point that I froze. I found myself in front of someone I was madly in love with who kind of liked me when I kept my distance, accompanied by Guy #206, who was getting really tired of having to constantly fend off my bad intentions toward him, and their friend, who no doubt thought I was sad. It was like hearing that distant siren at night and suddenly realizing it’s coming for you.

As before, Guy #168, #206 and their friend fled the scene to not be with me. Only this time I was too overcome by sadness to pursue them.

I secluded myself to a mattress of sorts, surrounded by people who were having sex. I lay down on my stomach, my eyes hiding in my arms, and cried, at an orgy.

A lot of questions went through what was left of my mind as I hid my tears:

Why did I do anything as stupid as revealing my true self to someone I loved?
Why is my true self such a far cry from the Guy I want to be?
Can I ever face Guy #168 again?
Can the people sharing my mattress see I’m crying?

How did I manage to find myself in a house with countless attractive Guys and not have any fun?
How can I ache for sexual freedom and be consumed by jealousy at the same time?
Isn’t XTC supposed to make you happy?

Then why am I crying at an orgy?

Eventually I fell asleep, at that point the only escape from reality left at my disposal.
When I woke up a few hours later Guy #168 and #206 had gone.

I was left feeling sad, embarrassed and hurt, at an orgy that was still ongoing.

So I did what any wise Guy on drugs would do.

I went on the rebound. Plenty of Guys to choose from after all.

I chose Guy #207. And in case you’re wondering how that went, you should read about him in my next story: The horrible aftermath of that time I cried at an orgy.


Guy #194 – The cutest Guy in the sauna…

In a gay sauna, there are three types of Guys:

  1. The nontouchables, or people I don’t want to touch no matter how often they grab my balls. They account for about 90% of sauna guests, are often fat and hairy, not to mention high.
  2. The touchables, 9% of Guys I could see myself doing, not the cream of the crop I pay my admission for but more than attractive enough to have a go on when I am high.
  3. The untouchables, those 1% of Guys I would love to do, but am too shy for to try. Whenever I go to a gay sauna, I aim to score one of these, or rather to have an untouchable hit me up.

Cruising through a gay sauna, you try to avoid the nontouchables, attain a casually ambivalent attitude toward the touchables and follow the movement of the few untouchables like a hawk.

Catching an untouchable is a rare delight, like finding out ABBA is back together or not testing positive for gonorrhea even though your previous date did.

Given that my hunting strategy consists of passively waiting in a corner till an untouchable touches me, I usually settle for having sex with a touchable.

That’s not a complaint by the way. I’m way more at ease in the presence of someone I deem myself worthy of, making it fairly easy for me to suppress my issues. If touchables have taught me anything it’s that looks and chemistry only correlate when you let them.

Guy #194 on all accounts was a great touchable. He was attractive and made an effort by coming on to me. Although I was aware of the presence of some untouchables nearby, I forewent the ache of silently hoping for them to hit me up by enjoying the enthusiasm Guy #194 showed.

Sex with Guy #194 as it turned out correlated with his enthusiasm. Even though we had hardly spoken, the way we communicated our sexuality told us we were likeminded, two people who might have similar interests, a shared sense of humor or appreciation for ABBA music. The similarities weren’t acknowledged, but the sex made them feel very likely. And I wasn’t even that high!

Afterward we did speak a little. I told him I had recently written the fictional diary of Kim Jong-un as a novel. Guy #194 responded by giving me his phone number and asking for the link, so he could read it. I was flattered by his interest, which seemed sincere, especially considering I wasn’t all that high.

After lying next to each other for what may have been fifteen minutes or so, I told Guy #194 I was going to cruise some more. He seemed a tad disappointed, but also very accepting.
“I had a great time with you,” I said, hoping to make me walking away and looking for other people to have sex with less awkward.
“You too,” Guy #194 said, “I caught the cutest Guy in the sauna.”
“Really?” I asked, wanting to milk the compliment as best I could.
“Yeah, I saw you and said to myself That’s the Guy I want to hook up with tonight.
“Wow, thank you!,” I said and walked away, making it all the more awkward I was doing so to have sex with other people.

I needed the compliment, badly.

Also present that night was Guy #168, whom I was very much in love with at the time. A week before I had invited him to this orgy where he never showed up. My intuition told me I had a decent chance of running into him at this particular sauna this night. My intuition had proven right.

It thrilled me Guy #168 was also there, allowing me to show off how much of a catch I was. At the same time it was a frustrating experience, as the good parts of me jumped off a cliff each time Guy #168 came near. There was definitely some chemistry between the two of us, but I was all but incapable of channeling it into something sexual. He was, as one might call it, an untouchable. So instead of trying to have sex with Guy #168, I wondered off, hooked up with Guy #194 and got labeled an untouchable myself.

Thank you, universe.

Yet instead of revelling in Guy #194’s adoration, I left him to find Guy #168 to tell him I just had awesome sex and that the Guy I’d gotten it from thought I was the cutest Guy in the sauna.
“Ow,” Guy #168 replied with a rather heartless ‘good-for-you’ inflection.
“Turns out I can be a good bottom to the right Guy,” I continued, trying way too hard to point Guy #168 to my finer qualities as a human being.

Guy #168 was probably the most dysfunctional crush I ever had: I met the wonderful Guy #194, he thought I was the cutest Guy around and even wanted to read my book. Had I bottomed for him another time, I might have actually sold a copy.

Instead I just wanted Guy #168 to know how awesome some random Guy thought I was. I never even got around to sending Guy #194 the link to my book.

I guess when someone labels me an untouchable, I really play the part, treating Guy #194 as Guy #168 treated me, getting my karma served to me instantly.

Thanks a lot, universe!


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #186 – The one I wanted to forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s always an afterparty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #190 – The one who made me forget

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #191 – The one I actually forgot

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

Guy #154 – The old friend

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

Guy #192 – The young and the restless

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

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

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

Guy #193 – The one who died

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #181 – Waiter must cut meat…

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

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

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

And he liked me. A lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another year has passed since then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That felt slightly satisfying for a few seconds.

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


Guy #175 – Donald Trump the aphrodisiac…

“I apologize for Donald Trump,” was one of the first things Guy #175 said to me.

I don’t have anything against Americans, but the ones who apologize for Donald Trump the first chance they get have a special place in my heart.

There’s nothing cuter than a Guy apologetically admitting his American citizenship, knowing all too well Europeans have come to see America the way America sees Detroit.

It’s the land of the free and home of the brave, but to those that spend enough time outside of it the words “I’m American” often come with a pinch of shame these days…and it’s absolutely adorable when a cute Guy does it.

I don’t think anyone should ever have to apologize for their country, but saying sorry for Donald Trump has become a very effective way of letting people know that Hey, I’m American, but I am aware Africa is not a country, I don’t believe in angels and it’s never a good idea to nuke Finland.

Mind you, Guy #175 said sorry for Donald Trump way back in the summer of 2016, when it still seemed unlikely he would become president. His preemptive apology made him one of the nicest Americans I ever had sex with.

Because it was in that moment, when Guy #175 said he was sorry for Donald Trump, that I decided I would turn him into Guy #175.

When you meet someone who dislikes Donald Trump, you quickly find you have a lot in common. Whether it’s about building walls, grabbing women by the pussy, or cuddling up with racists – all of which activities gay Guys seldom engage in – the road to foreplay is smooth as a slide: the Donald Trump apology was a push, and from there we comfortably coasted toward kissing and, eventually, what could best be described as a gay attempt of grabbing each other by the pussy.

Guy #175 and I didn’t spend much time together. I had a life I needed to be at, he was an American, staying in my country for no more than a few days.

We enjoyed each other’s company in his hotel room for about an hour, then we went out and got high together, because what else would I be doing with an American tourist in Amsterdam?

We got along very well, even becoming Facebook friends.

About a year later he contacted me, saying he was back in the Netherlands for a short while, asking if I’d want to meet.

By this time Donald Trump had found his way to the White House. There would’ve been so much for us to talk about, so much to bond over, yet I only halfheartedly set a date for him to come over at my place. And when that date arrived, neither of us made any real effort to actually meet up. He said his train got delayed, I told him not to rush, which he probably took to mean he needn’t show up at all.

A second date never happened.

When we met, Guy #175 and I talked about way more than just Donald Trump, but for some reason I mostly remember making fun of American politics as the thing that set our date apart from others.

Guy #175 was cute, but in my memory our bond was mostly the result of a common sense of disbelief toward things happening an ocean away. I’m sure there was more to us, but I simply didn’t register it as a memory…maybe because I got high too much.

Who knows if Guy #175 and I ever meet up again. He’s an American who lives in Finland, so as long as Donald Trump hasn’t nuked it, I won’t rule it out as a possibility. Stranger things have happened, like Donald Trump being an aphrodisiac.


Guy #174 – The one with feelings. And cocaine. And gonorrhoea.

Some time ago I wrote the ‘story’ of Guy #168, except that it wasn’t much of a story, but rather an overview of all my personal issues standing in the way of me getting an actual, loving relationship with a Guy.

It’s not that Guy #168 is not a story I don’t want to tell:

Guy #168 was someone I met at this orgy this one time. For a while he was someone I wanted to be more with than just ‘someone I run into at orgies’. And when I say ‘for a while’ I mean Guy #168 was on my mind pretty much every time I had sex with someone, from Guy #169 all the way through #275, a good one and a half year of my life.

I have this habit of having dysfunctional crushes.

So when I met Guy #174 my first thought was This Guy doesn’t look at all like Guy #168.

Of course, being hopelessly in love doesn’t mean I become picky when it comes to picking Guys to have sex with. On the contrary: when I’m hopelessly in love I remedy my hopelessness by projecting all my feelings onto someone who doesn’t match my image of perfection, and then I resent that person for not being perfect.

Guy #174 was an exception in many ways, and I think the reason for it was feelings. His feelings.

I really wanted Guy #168 to have feelings for me, but instead I met Guy #174, a smart, funnily tortured cocaine addict who reminded me of myself in more ways than I was comfortable with. I say ‘funnily tortured’ because his drama was a great source of laughter for me. My life was far from on track at the time, but his issues dwarfed mine. We were similar in many ways, but Guy #174 seemed worse off in all dimensions. He was the embodiment of solace.

At the time I spent my waking hours at home, jobless, taking care of my stepdad. Guy #174 also lived with his family, his life lacking direction as well. He spent his sleeping hours away from his home as much as he could, as did I. He remedied his sadness with cocaine. I got high on weed every day.

We both lived life forgetting as much of it as we could.

When we first had sex Guy #174 made me forget about Guy #168 for a short while, like a few hours. It was like taking a new drug and discovering a new kind of high. Only the second time Guy #174 and I got together he gave me gonorrhoea, which is just the most annoying of all STD’s.

Like the caring person he was, Guy #174 joined me as we went to get our antibiotics. It struck me as hardcore to see him swallowing his pills with a bottle of champagne: this was clearly not the first time he had taken gonorrhoea meds.

I suppose it was in that moment I decided Guy #174 and I would continue as friends, something I instinctively felt he was willing to do: he’d seemed in awe of me from the moment we met, giving me nothing but compliments about my personality and the way I dealt with my issues, neither of which I felt were deserving of any praise.

I could tell he lamented the fact I wanted to be just friends, but he granted me full control of the relationship. For me, Guy #174 became someone I could talk to, about whatever I wanted to talk about.
“I am in love with this Guy I met at this orgy,” I told Guy #174, wanting to vent my issues as Guy #174 was often keen to let me.
“I don’t want to hear about that,” he said however.
I refrained from talking about my feelings for another Guy, until a few days later, when I brought him up again. This time I was allowed to. I could tell he wasn’t happy listening to me talking about a Guy I liked more than him, but he didn’t resist.

Guy #174 never explicitly said he had feelings for me. I suppose he knew me well enough not to.

I guess when we’re in love we prefer being tortured by the ones we love over not being with them at all. I didn’t resent Guy #174 as I would so many others who didn’t resemble the Guy I was in love with. Instead I appreciated him for allowing me to quietly torture him with my meanderings about this random Guy I met at this orgy this one time. It was what I needed, and Guy #174 was all too available to give me what I wanted, from laughing about his life, to whining about mine, to antibiotics, to just friendship.

Over the years I’ve been with a lot of Guys. yet as far as I can tell only a very few of them ever developed any feelings for me. With the exception of a few weeks with Guy #143 and a long distance fling with Guy #96, I never experienced much reciprocation. Likewise, the few people who ever fell for me…simply fell.

What can I say? I only fall for people I can’t have. People who fall for me I can have…so why fall for them?

Did I mention I only do dysfunctional crushes?

This one time Guy #174 and I went to a gay sauna together, where of all people we ran into Guy #168. It must have been an eye opener for Guy #174 to see me ache for attention from someone I barely got it from. I imagine it helped Guy #174 to let go of chasing me.

Usually when someone I had sex with isn’t perfect in each and every way I become dismissive toward that person.
Guy #174 didn’t look like the Guy I really wanted, he always complained about how not doing cocaine was such a drag, he had given me gonorrhoea. Yet despite all that I always enjoyed his company. His feelings didn’t chase me away as people with feelings so often do.

Guy #174 wasn’t perfect. Instead he was very much like me.

“We’re both stuck,” he once said, summing up both our lives in three words.

As time passed, we saw each other less and less frequently. My life gradually got ‘unstuck’, my need of solace fading away, hopefully not unlike Guy #174’s feelings for me.

We don’t really keep in touch these days. Of all the people I ever suspected of having feelings for me, Guy #174 was the one that made it the least awkward. Of all the people who ever gave me gonorrhoea, he was the only one kind enough to take our meds together. I feel sorry I didn’t feel for him what he seemingly felt for me, but if I’d ever get gonorrhoea again, I’d want it to come from someone like Guy #174.

Coming from a narcissist, that means a lot.

Thank you, Guy #174.


Guy #168 – Meet some of my issues…

“The path of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”
William Blake

Ever since I started 168guys.com, the question I get asked the most pertains to what I will do after I reach 168 Guys.

The answer is both simple and not so simple.

Let’s start with simple.

When I started writing this blog, the number 168 was just a ballpark figure of the amount of Guys I’d been with. I began writing in October of 2015. As I started chronicling my sex life, I recalled more and more of the Guys I had sex with. Eventually, I opened up an Excel sheet, wrote down every Guy I could remember and ranked them according to their chronology. As it turned out I was about 20 Guys shy of Guy #168 at the time.

So when people asked me what I’d do after reaching Guy #168, I’d tell them I’d be doing what I’d been doing for the 167 Guys that preceded him: Make a note of it in my Excel sheet and move on to the next Guy.

Which is what I did, so for those of you in fear of this blog coming to an end, my Excel sheet currently lists 260+ Guys and I’m still out there, every day, advertising my whorish selfies on Grindr, looking for Guys to connect with, Guys to get high with, Guys to write about and possibly someone to love at some point, although there’s a good chance I have issues prohibiting that last part from ever happening.

Which brings us to not so simple.

I have issues. Let’s meet some of them:

I don’t date Guys because I want a relationship, but I am constantly on the lookout for that one Guy who befits my image of what perfection should be. Being a bit of a narcissist 99% of the Guys I do I dispense with even before I wash my hands clean of them, and truth be told it’s comforting to know 99% of Guys couldn’t hurt me or my feelings even if their lives depended on it.

My relationships with Guys are mostly short-lived, yet each and every time I engage in conversation with someone on Grindr, in a bar or at an orgy, part of me hopes to find someone I can establish a meaningful, lasting connection with. Relationships lasting longer than one date are the exception however. Either I make the effort to invest more time in a Guy and this effort is not reciprocated, or the other Guy gets back to me and I dismiss him for being too needy.

I am good looking. I get stared at a lot when I’m in a gay sauna, flaunting my deceitfully youthful exterior for anyone willing to admire it. Being good looking is a blessing as much as it is a curse. Seeing beauty when I look in the mirror gives me a sense of entitlement bordering on the unsympathetic. I am polite whenever I reject someone, but on the inside I feel anger toward the many Guys hitting on me and resent them for not being more like those few hot Guys who are not nearly as generous with their attention.

I wasn’t always attractive. In fact, for a long time I believed myself to be irreparably weird looking. Having spent the first 24 years of my life in a closet, I have a lot of experience falling hopelessly in love with girls who would have made the perfect daughter-in-law to my mother, were it not for the fact they thought of me as their little brother they wouldn’t dare share their vaginas with. One can imagine what happens to someone when you stir rejection in a bowl of narcissism and let it simmer for 24 years: I was damaged goods even before people started touching mine.

Consider how happy I was stepping out of my closet and landing in a world where I was considered doable by practically everyone who lived there. To this day, every time someone compliments me on my looks, every lusty stare I get, every bit of attention, it all acts as a band aid, covering the wounds of being a 24 year old virgin, a dorky figure who at one point was convinced sex was only meant for other people. At 35 years of age, that failure of a human being still exists, occupying my subconscious like a Bond villain that just won’t die.

At first I wasn’t very picky when it came to having sex with Guys. If it felt right I would go for it, often with pitiful results, but still, the thrill of being considered attractive gave me a high I simply couldn’t stop chasing. It’s a high I’ve been chasing for well over a decade now.

However, the more beautiful Guys I catch, the more beautiful the next one needs to be. I’m a 35 year old narcissistic gay Guy who, with the right amount of effort, can still pass for a youthlike twink such as the ones I’m attracted to. Yet the older I am, the higher my standards become, the rarer I catch what I aim for…and what I aim for is perfection.

I’ve only been in love a handful of times. I tend to fall for people who are unsuitable relationship material. I can always tell they’re unsuitable, but my hormones usually stand in the way of accepting this as fact. Looking back, I’m thankful I never ended up in a relationship with any of the people I ever fell in love with. At the same time it makes me wonder if I should want a relationship with the next person I fall in love with, seeing as how I always crave someone I don’t need. The status quo is that love for me is like a mirage I stop chasing the moment it becomes real.

As you can probably figure, I’m not really the relationship type. I dabbled in relationships very briefly, with Guys #14. #143 and #144 to be precise. They all lasted only a few months. I enjoyed the intimacy of a commitment, but each time I was quick to point out the reasons why my relationship with a particular Guy would eventually fail. Once that happened, continuing the relationship would have been like walking all the way down a dead-end street you already know is a dead-end street. What experience in relationships I could have had I gladly traded for a life in the fast lane.

Said fast lane eventually brought me into a world where homosexuality is celebrated in all its extremities, a world where casual sex flows on waves of drugs that make the experience anything but casual. When I started writing 168guys.com, love and sex to me were inseparable. My issues aside, I firmly believed that anyone looking for sex is also looking for love. Even when I arrived at my first orgy, I figured all the people there were in it for the intimacy.

When I started 168guys.com, I thought I had seen pretty much everything there is to see in the world of gay dating. Then came the day I discovered orgy culture, XTC, GHB, ketamine or just plain old fashioned cocaine. Before all of this I considered myself an expert on gay life, gay culture and even gay relationships. One year and nearly a hundred Guys later I am more at odds with sex, love and dating than I was when I stepped out of my closet. And I’m 35, single and incapable of keeping a Guy around for more than one date.

Basically, I’m a narcissist, insecure to the bone, looking for perfection, and alone.

All in all I guess you could say I’m your typical gay Guy.

You see, the one thing writing this blog has taught me is that issues are what binds us more than perfection. The more people read my blog, the more people tell me they find it a very relatable read. It would seem confusion, insecurity, clumsiness, loneliness and a restless search for perfection are quite common in the gay scene. So instead of limiting myself to chronicling short snippets of gay life, over the past year the idea grew I could expand 168guys.com into a book, offering the world a peek into the world of gays, drugs, orgies, lust, despair, jealousy, passion, addiction, hurt, pain, joy, ecstasy and yes, even love.

So in addition to writing about all the Guys I ever had sex with and trying to figure out myself in the process, I’ve also been writing a book about gay life in all its glory and not so glory. It’s still far from completed, but I will of course keep everyone updated on its progress. Writing a book featuring my issues is a lot of work.

Fortunately, Guy #168 gave me enough material to work with.

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 #162 – The perfect relationship for when you don’t know how to have them…

I suppose Guy #162 was the perfect Guy in many ways. We never talked, we never committed, we never expected anything from each other, but each time we met we had the kind of sex that reminded me how fun living can be.

Guy #162 and I only spoke with each other the night we met. He was a gorgeous Colombian twink and I have blond hair and blue eyes. Gravity did the rest.
The conversation was mostly a formality, but it lasted a good hour nonetheless, probably because I felt shy in the presence of such a beautiful Guy. I guess I wanted to give him the impression I wasn’t just in it because of his looks, despite the fact I wanted him because of his looks.

Looks aside, Guy #162 was a very friendly person who spoke English as a second language. His English was better than my Spanish, but in terms of complexity our conversation could just as easily have taken place on Sesame Street.
He spoke a little about missing his Colombian family and even got a bit emotional when he opened up about the worst thing that had ever happened to him: the death of his dog. I had buried my mother a few years before and spent my days tending to my stepdad who was currently knocking on heaven’s door. I couldn’t care less about a dead dog, but I was affected by Guy #162’s sadness, plus I really wanted to get to the sex part we had both agreed upon the instant we first glanced at each other.

So I empathized and got physical, two things that are really just one and the same when it’s sex you’re after. The kissing soon followed.

I enjoyed having sex with Guy #162 and he enjoyed me in return. After we were done we each went our seperate ways, only to run into each other a few weeks later. This time we skipped the talking and went straight to lovemaking. It was even better than the first time.

For a while we would run into each other occasionally and each time we did we ended up having sex. It was the perfect relationship for someone who, like me, is very inept at having them. Our conversation never exceeded Cookie Monster’s vocabulary and we gorged on each other as if we were made of oatmeal. The great thing was that, in those gorging moments, Guy #162 and I completely understood each other. Whatever we were feeling – lust mostly – it was completely mutual.

Sex with a beautiful person, in all its simplicity, is nothing short of a treat. I dare say it’s the kind of treat every Guy is looking for when they go out hunting.

Whenever Guy #162 and I would run into each other, we both instantly knew something sexual would sprout from it. We never made any effort to meet. We just did, our local gay scene being small enough for us to bump into each other every so often.

After we bumped each other the fifth or sixth time, I decided to up the fun a little by giving Guy #162 my phone number.
“App me sometime,” I said.

I haven’t seen or heard from him since.


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 #144 – Having an actual relationship…

The closest thing I ever got to having a relationship was going through an actual relationship with Guy #144. More precisely, a relationship with Guy #144 and his mother.

The first time I met Guy #144 was on a sex date at his place. He lived with his mother as it turned out, who I first saw lying lifelessly on a couch, watching TV and smoking a cigarette. She politely greeted me when I walked in, as her son showed me the way to his room.

I won’t deny sex with Guy #144 was good, but I couldn’t shake the realization his mother was but one door handle away the entire time. And I knew she knew all too well what I was doing to her son.

Guy #144 having a sex date over for his mother to see is one of those things that gets weirder the more you think about it. Strangely enough, I hadn’t thought about it much a few months later, when Guy #144 and his mother moved to a new house that happened to be a mere two minute drive from mine. Living on a small sexually void island I suddenly found myself within reach of sex in the format of a magazine subscription.

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before I visited Guy #144 at his new home, where he and his mother entertained me for a good thirty minutes before Guy #144 took me to his bedroom to give me the sex I had come for. As the three of us sat down on their porch, it struck me as odd Guy #144 wore nothing but a boxer in the presence of his mother.

Still, Guy #144 and I hit it off nicely. I almost instantly knew this wouldn’t be the man of my dreams, but he was close enough to have a go at this ‘relationship thing’ I had already heard so much about. In that sense, it wasn’t even that odd his mother had been part of the relationship from the get go. In Guy #144 I didn’t only gain a boyfriend, I also got a stepmom. My own mother having passed away not too long ago, it was nice to have a mother figure in my life again. And if I’m being completely honest, my gut told me Guy #144 was in no way capable of truly hurting me.

I guess I always knew there’d come a day I’d end up hurting Guy #144, and his mother.

Life at my own place at the time was a bit of a mess, so being with Guy #144 and his mother offered me solace from my daily worries. It wasn’t long before I slept at their place every night.

Guy #144 didn’t only live with his mother. They were also colleagues. They drove off in the same car every morning and came back together every night, after which they’d let off their steam by getting into heated discussions about the finer ethics of their job as bailiffs. It’s not that I don’t enjoy a good argument every now and then, but these two found grounds for quarrel in everything, that’s how much they wanted the fight. And no matter what the fight would be about, Guy #144 always fought in his underwear, the contours of his testicles hovering over his chair for boyfriends and stepmoms to gaze at.

Our relationship was very much rooted in sex at first, but the more I saw of Guy #144 the less I got to do him. Also, somewhere down the line he had taken up drinking and was now at a bottle of Scotch every day, which didn’t do wonders for either of our libidos. Sometimes Guy #144 would trick me into letting me think we’d be having sex only to call it off and go to sleep, saying the alcohol had made him tired. As my sexual frustration grew, so did my annoyance over the fact it was his mother who went out buying him Scotch almost every day.

At the beginning of the relationship, I got about thirty minutes of stepmom followed by four hours of Guy #144. A good month in and I had to go through 4 hours of stepmom followed by a few minutes with Guy #144 in his room as he took his nightcap and complained about how his mother didn’t get his side of the ever so fascinating bailiff spectrum.

My boyfriend had a pet name for his mother: ‘Mumsy’, as in It is my duty as an only child to make sure Mumsy has financial stability after she retires. I don’t think I ever hated a word as much as I hated Mumsy.

When I first saw Guy #144 he had been very cute. His somewhat antiquated Grindr photos proved he used to be incredibly hot. Yet as our relationship progressed, I could see the sad glance of alcoholism take root in his face and posture.

Whenever I told my boyfriend he should maybe consider moving to his own place he would fall into a well prepared monologue about the financial risks of such an undertaking and how living with his mother solved so many of his problems.

About four months into the relationship I realized I was basically living with my boyfriend and his mother, so I decided it would be good for me to spend some more time at home. I told Guy #144 he and of course his mother were both welcome there.

As it turned out, Guy #144 had abandonment issues. Who would have thought?

The idea of me spending time away from their safe space did not land well. Guy #144’s anger imploded in on himself, rendering him barely able to talk for a few days. So instead I faced off with Mumsy, who explained to me how neither one of them blamed me for wanting to spend time at my place, but that they were ticked off I didn’t discuss my decision with them before making it. His mother and I discussed the situation for well over an hour, as her son sat a few feet away from her, silently suffering in his underwear as I calmly smacked his mother in the face with my each and every one of my arguments, until she eventually conceded her objections had not been what one would call reasonable.

Feeling victorious I was in the mood for sex that night. Guy #144 went along with some foreplay, but quickly lashed out against me and then proceeded to cry his guts out, practically begging me not to leave him, not even for my own home, two clicks down the road, for two nights a week, where he and his mother would be welcome. Guy #144 wouldn’t have any of it, took a drink and went to sleep.

Me slaying Mumsy would prove to be my last conversation with her. When I left the house the next morning, I said goodbye to Guy #144 without even looking at him. I instinctively knew I would not be seeing him again. I later texted him saying I would prefer to keep some distance between us.

It’s a distance I enjoy till this day.

Guy #144 did make one halfhearted attempt to get back in touch with me, but I was too busy enjoying my distance. I did encourage him to start living on his own life. I believe I said something along the lines of You will never find happiness if you continue living with Mumsy.

I hope for his sake his mother invites a sex date over for her son to see one day. I’m sure it would do wonders for his abandonment issues.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: An actual relationship
SEX SCORE (0 = “It rubs the lotion on its skin” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #143 – For the very first time…

I guess we all adjust to the ones we’re with. Or maybe I just lack the backbone to be myself in front of other people.

Guy #143 was barely of legal age, he still went to high school, lived with his mother and was also unbelievably mature for his age, not to mention cute. While part of me couldn’t help but feel like a pedophile, another part fell hopelessly in love.
Guy #143 was mature for his age. I didn’t say I was.

The year was 2015, I was 32 years old and life threw me my first and only high school crush. We had the best conversations, it be about the burdens of parental supervision, high school gossip or how hard having homework can be.

When you fall in love for the first time you don’t know any better or it’s the single most important life event in the history of life itself. Every hug, every kiss, every app, all of it matters. When you’re in love for the first time, you don’t yet know you’re suffering from a psychological disorder that tends to prelude clinical depression the way Oreos precede a sugar crash.

At 32 I was old enough to know all that. I had been in love before. It had depressed me on more than one occasion. Yet for all my experience, I had never actually been with someone who was in love with me as much as I was in love with him. In terms of having a successful love live, the first month of my two month relationship with Guy #143 was probably my happiest to date.

Not wanting his classmates to see him dating a Guy old enough to be his teacher, Guy #143 insisted we’d keep our thing under wraps. Not wanting to be considered a pedophile, I happily obliged. If anything the secrecy only made our love more special, more meaningful, more like something people make movies about.

We started off with a one month streak of four successful dates, interwoven with endless Whatsapp conversations in which I fueled our connection by validating all of Guy #143’s drama for the serious stuff that it was.
Yet as much as it made me feel young and alive to be doing his homework, it was precisely the fact I found myself doing homework at 32 that made me wonder if Guy #143 and I had any future to speak of.

On the other hand, you don’t care about the future when you’re in love for the first time. Not even me, who had taken 32 years to finally enjoy life as a teenager. I wasn’t about to let go of that.

But I guess the future looks different depending on how old you are, regardless of maturity. Guy #143, as it turned out, saw it differently.

I will never know why, but one day Guy #143 went from saying I love you during sex to saying his mother needed him to be home at ten, instead of sex. All the enthusiasm, his sparkling personality and playful bedside manner…it all vanished into thin air. What was left was a teenager who kept all his feelings inside but would rather die than talk to an adult about it. No matter how hard I empathized with his mother issues, no matter what Whatsapp emoticon I threw at him, not even the amount of homework I did changed anything about his curtness.

The joy I had felt during our first four dates was replaced by despair. As so often happens when you fall in love, it lures you in before it reveals its true nature. Butterflies turn into bats, birds and bees become vultures and flies, happy becomes black. It had happened to me before, but this being my first high school crush it came as a surprise nonetheless.

As weeks passed, the dates stopped coming, as did the emoticons. A day or two after finishing his paper on the Russian Revolution all frequencies went silent.

I was heartbroken for about a week, far from the worst sugar crash I ever had. I suppose I was relieved I could stop living life as a teenager.

While I never understood why Guy #143 became distant all of a sudden, it was at one point revealed to me he had cheated on me with a Guy old enough to have been my teacher.

Turns out people tend to lose perspective when they’re in love for the first time. Thankfully, I learned my lesson and never fell hopelessly in love ever again for well over a year.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 months
FORMAT: Dawson’s Creek meets Boy Meets World
SEX SCORE (0 = The Russian Revolution <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.3

 

DO WHAT I DID. START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #142 – The awkwardness of dating people the normal way…

Old fashioned as it may seem, sometimes you meet people you will have sex with on normal, everyday gatherings such as birthday parties.

Guy #142 and I met one night and ended up eating cake together, which somehow evolved into us exchanging phone numbers.

A few weeks later I found myself having sex with him on his kitchen floor.

The weird thing is, when you meet someone the normal way and then have sex with him, it’s almost as if it means something. If you prefer someone from real life over a stranger from Grindr, you’re inclined to take the other person seriously.

Though neither one of us felt any obligation, we did think of our little dating experiment in terms of the word relationship.

At least, I may have thought that’s what people do with people you meet the normal way, I’m not sure. In fact, I was never quite sure whether we were committing, casual or somehow both.

Guy #142 wasn’t really my kind of attractive. It meant that if I wanted to have something meaningful with him, I would have to make an effort. Had I met him through Grindr I would have dismissed him as just another sex date. Yet our sexual chemistry had evolved all by itself, the way nature intended it. It felt off dismissing something like that.

The two of us could have pleasant conversations, he made the best cocktails and he was someone I could cuddle up with at a time when I was in need of that. Yet the more I drank of his cocktails, the more I came to realize I was in no way willing to make the effort to truly open up to him.

Guy #142 became more distant as time progressed. I suppose he had taken note of how spoiled I can be toward people I don’t consider underwear models.

For a while after we dated Guy #142 wasn’t just my ex but also my hairdresser, which meant we kept seeing each other the normal way, restricting ourselves to normal stuff.

I always enjoyed it when Guy #142 cut my hair. It was intensely relaxing, even more so because he was the kind of hairdresser who explicitly preferred not to talk while he was working, meaning I got a soothing and conversationless head massage that turned me on each time I got one.

And each time Guy #142 cut my hair I would wonder if maybe the thought of having sex with me occurred to him as he was busy making me look prettier. To me, the arousal came as naturally as it had on his kitchen floor. I figured a barber having sex in his shop would make a good blog story one day, but to his credit Guy #142 stayed professional every time. I very much doubt his mind was on sex as much as it was on mine. I guess Guy #142 was way more accustomed to all the normal going on.

The reason he probably didn’t think of having sex with me might very well be that I was the kind of person unable to not think of it. Plus he viewed his job as a craft, an art form of sorts, not the kind of thing one sets the normal aside for.

Still, considering a hairdresser who talks is like a psychiatrist that touches you, it was awesome getting the silent treatment.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 1 year
FORMAT: Few weeks of dating followed by four or five haircuts
SEX SCORE (0 = A hairdresser that talks <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

 

Guy #135 – The best sex ever…

The last time I had sex with Guy #135 I whispered “I love you” seconds before coming. It felt strange to say the L-word for a change, but above anything else I knew I meant it, even after coming. That almost never happens.

What I loved most about Guy #135 was his wisdom. I’ve never seen him radiate anything but Zen. Though about ten years younger than me, I often felt my own cynicism came off as immature by comparison. Guy #135 was as much a boyfriend as he was a spiritual guide.

On top of that he was also one of the most beautiful Guys I ever met in my life. He looked what you’d expect Adam of Adam and Steve fame to look like, beauty in its most natural incarnation, or doable to the highest degree as I thought the night we met.

His online selfies had been strangely obscure. Had my home been at the center of a lustrous gay life, I might not have even met up with Guy #135. Instead my home was a little tropical paradise. Guy #135 lived an island away and was visiting mine for a week. Not wanting to forego the possibility of sex with a possibly good looking Guy in a place with so few, we met up on his penultimate night there.

I instantly regretted spending the better half of a week not making an effort to set a date, only because his selfies had been so obscure. It would be the first of many times Guy #135 confronted me with my shallowness. Regardless, at the onset of our date I set out to become Steve, even if it was just for one night.

As the night progressed I came to realize two things: Guy #135 was what you would call an old soul and he was into me. He was by no means the slutty type, but for some reason he apparently agreed with me our connection was a special one. I knew I was Steve by the time the two of us were sitting on my porch, praising each other’s beauty as Adam and Steve would.

By the time we woke up together Guy #135 had become someone I care for, even after coming.

We met up a few weeks later, when again he visited my island, only this time he spent all nights with me, all three of them. It was on one such night we fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke up in the exact same position precisely eight hours later. We were Adam and Steve alright.

Guy #135 was not one to be jealous, but he did seem at odds with the way I lived my sex life, going from one meaningless hook-up to the next. I tried to talk my way out of it by saying I was always open to the possibility of a commitment, except of course no commitment ever felt worthy enough to forego anonymous sex on a parking lot, among other things. Guy #135 quickly uncovered it was in fact my own lack of self esteem that deemed every connection disposable. Indeed, part of me couldn’t help but feel unworthy of Guy #135.

We hardly kept in touch when he wasn’t on my island. I guess it felt off chatting with such a profoundly moral boyfriend while at the same time Grindring those closer to home. Life went on and it wasn’t until the day after I broke up with Guy #144 that I learned Adam was back in town.

We spent a few nights on a little private beach no one else could come. It was a place from which one could often see shooting stars in the night sky. I don’t remember if the two of us saw one that night, but for the sake of the story: There was weed.
“We go well together,” Guy #135 told me. I knew I wasn’t ready to commit myself to someone, but it felt good to realize a relationship with #135 might actually be a good idea at some point. I remember looking at him and silently agreeing how well we were going together. It was the night I said “I love you”. It was also the last time I ever saw him.

Our last Whatsapp conversation took place a few months after the night of the best sex ever. I had just started 168Guys.com and Guy #135 expressed surprise at my number of sexual experiences. He’d always known there were plenty. He just never realized there were that plenty. He wanted to know his number and what his ‘Sex Score’ would be. I said it would be a 10.

I guess part of me always assumed Guy #135 should maybe hope for another Steve, one with more self esteem and abs to show for it, a Steve less shallow than I am.

dscn3815

Even though nothing ever materialized between Guy #135 and me, he’s always been a very pleasant memory, someone I enjoy missing from time to time. It’s nice to know there’s at least one person I can be Steve with, or me in my most natural incarnation, shallow as a pond, afraid to swim where my feet can’t touch the ground, yet somehow seaworthy enough for Guy #135.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ±2 years
FORMAT: Wholly non committal highly intermittent relationship
SEX SCORE (0 = Cat videos <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 10

 

Want to read the full story? Click here to start with Guy #1!

Guy #135 – The best sex. Yet.

The last time I had sex with Guy #135 I whispered “I love you” seconds before coming. It felt strange to say the L-word for a change, but above anything else I knew I meant it, even after coming. That almost never happens.

What I loved most about Guy #135 was his wisdom. I’ve never seen him radiate anything but Zen. Though about ten years younger than me, I often felt my own cynicism came off as immature by comparison. Guy #135 was as much a boyfriend as he was a spiritual guide.

On top of that he was also one of the most beautiful Guys I ever met in my life. He looked what you’d expect Adam of Adam and Steve fame to look like, beauty in its most natural incarnation, or doable to the highest degree as I thought the night we met.

His online selfies had been strangely obscure. Had my home been at the center of a lustrous gay life, I might not have even met up with Guy #135. Instead my home was a little tropical paradise. Guy #135 lived an island away and was visiting mine for a week. Not wanting to forego the possibility of sex with a possibly good looking Guy in a place with so few, we met up on his penultimate night there.

I instantly regretted spending the better half of a week not making an effort to set a date, only because his selfies had been so obscure. It would be the first of many times Guy #135 confronted me with my shallowness. Regardless, at the onset of our date I set out to become Steve, even if it was just for one night.

As the night progressed I came to realize two things: Guy #135 was what you would call an old soul and he was into me. He was by no means the slutty type, but for some reason he apparently agreed with me our connection was a special one. I knew I was Steve by the time the two of us were sitting on my porch, praising each other’s beauty as Adam and Steve would.

By the time we woke up together Guy #135 had become someone I care for, even after coming.

We met up a few weeks later, when again he visited my island, only this time he spent all nights with me, all three of them. It was on one such night we fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke up in the exact same position precisely eight hours later. We were Adam and Steve alright.

Guy #135 was not one to be jealous, but he did seem at odds with the way I lived my sex life, going from one meaningless hook-up to the next. I tried to talk my way out of it by saying I was always open to the possibility of a commitment, except of course no commitment ever felt worthy enough to forego anonymous sex on a parking lot, among other things. Guy #135 quickly uncovered it was in fact my own lack of self esteem that deemed every connection disposable. Indeed, part of me couldn’t help but feel unworthy of Guy #135.

We hardly kept in touch when he wasn’t on my island. I guess it felt off chatting with such a profoundly moral boyfriend while at the same time Grindring those closer to home. Life went on and it wasn’t until the day after I broke up with Guy #144 that I learned Adam was back in town.

We spent a few nights on a little private beach no one else could come. It was a place from which one could often see shooting stars in the night sky. I don’t remember if the two of us saw one that night, but for the sake of the story: There was weed.
“We go well together,” Guy #135 told me. I knew I wasn’t ready to commit myself to someone, but it felt good to realize a relationship with #135 might actually be a good idea at some point. I remember looking at him and silently agreeing how well we were going together. It was the night I said “I love you”. It was also the last time I ever saw him.

Our last Whatsapp conversation took place a few months after the night of the best sex ever (up until that point that is). I had just started 168Guys.com and Guy #135 expressed surprise at my number of sexual experiences. He’d always known there were plenty. He just never realized there were that plenty. He wanted to know his number and what his ‘Sex Score’ would be. I said it would be a 10. (It has been for a long time.)

I guess part of me always assumed Guy #135 should maybe hope for another Steve, one with more self esteem and abs to show for it, a Steve less shallow than I am.

Even though nothing ever materialized between Guy #135 and me, he’s always been a very pleasant memory, someone I enjoy missing from time to time. It’s nice to know there’s at least one person I can be Steve with, or me in my most natural incarnation, shallow as a pond, afraid to swim where my feet can’t touch the ground, yet somehow seaworthy enough for Guy #135.


Guy #124 – Let the dolphin speak…

Sometimes Guys on Grindr fail to get the message: That he’s just not that into you.

A good friend of mine introduced me to the perfect emoji for silencing people who fail to realize when the relationship, whatever it was, has run its course. It’s the dolphin.

These days, whenever I used up every available polite way of saying let us not be part of each other’s lives and the only thing I have left is to bluntly tell this person I’m not that into him, I send a dolphin:

dolphin

A dolphin is friendly, playful and well spirited. It means I wish the other person well on his journeys.
It also means the conversation is over.

No healthy person enjoys rejecting others. It’s why we go about it ever so gently. The result is an internet full of people who mistake attention for interest.

Guy #124 was old enough to be dating but too young to have even a slight grasp of the complexity of the game.

About fifteen minutes into our dance floor hook-up Guy #124 told me he had wanted me the moment he first laid eyes on me. For me Guy #124 was only my third or fourth choice of all the Guys there. He was young and inexperienced. I was at #124 and had every intention of making it to at least #125 in the near future.

The reason I ended up having sex with Guy #124 is that he was the key to experiencing a tiny part of the local gay scene I had never experienced before: Hook-up motels, where you park your car behind a curtain and have sex in the garage. The country we were in just so happened to be the place where secretive gay sex was very common, so when Guy #124 suggested we’d go there one day, I was curious enough to try.

What I remember most is the motel cleaning lady, the only person in the world who got to look the customer in the eyes, a bearer of secrets if ever I’ve seen one. The sex itself was more or less okay. We could hear the cleaning lady vacuuming throughout.

As we were cooling down in the garage, Guy #124 occasionally asked me to ‘say something’, apparently lamenting the fact I wasn’t as cheerful as I had been on a dance floor. I didn’t say anything. I just couldn’t be bothered.

Yet for some reason Guys like #124 can find in depressing motel room dates the start of something beautiful. And they’re sweet and inexperienced, so you don’t want to be the first to break their heart, so you go easy on them, and you reply when they start texting you the very next day.

You reply without offering any real input for the conversation to go on, yet the other Guy just keeps asking questions, or gives you that one remark that gets under your skin just enough to respond, thinking the conversation will die out eventually like a flame in the vacuum of space.

I should have flippered Guy #124. I should have sent him the dolphin, letting him know I have nothing against him and that I think he’s sweet and reasonably apt at having sex, but that the relationship has ended, because reasons.

The dolphin is the definitive lid on social awkwardness. It’s the most humane way of saying:

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True to form I never reply to a single message from a person I’ve flippered. If a dolphin can’t show them I’m just not that into them, I don’t know what will.

Guy #124 ended up being quite offended when I eventually stopped replying to his text messages. He would not have been had I sent him a dolphin. That would have left him in a gentle but confused state of wonder.

I think ‘flippering’ could be this year’s planking.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: 2 hopeless sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = A Hannibal Lecter dinner party <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5