Love – Page 3

Guy #46 – The massage…

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

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

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

Here’s why:

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

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

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

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

Guy #46 insisted however.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

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

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

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

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

The service wasn’t all that bad, actually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Well, those and other moments.)

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

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 15 minutes + 20 minutes with Guy #38
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE GUY #37 (0 = When Bambi’s mother got shot <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5
SEX SCORE GUY #37 and #38 (0 = Bowling shoes <–> 10 = The Best sex ever): 5

Guy #32 and #33 – Stroke that ego…

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m not judging by the way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #27 – Recreationship…

Sex is a bit like drugs.

If you know how to use drugs wisely, a lot of them can be fun.

Sex is the one drug we should embrace as a society. It is pretty well established that the more people smoke weed, the less people get upset about it. It’s the same with sex.

So while we shouldn’t get high 24/7, on the special occasion you do the best idea is to simply enjoy it as much as you can.

This was my mindset the night I met Guy #27.

His opening line was Do you know that you are very beautiful? It was in that moment I decided I was going to enjoy him as much as I could.

We talked a little over very loud music. I’m not a fan of extremely loud club music, but I do like how it forces you to be in each other’s space when you’re talking. It makes the whole seduction ritual flow ever so smoothly. The noise causes proximity. The proximity causes touching. The touching causes even more touching. All the touching causes kissing and not long after that Guy #27 and I were gorging on each other like a pair of toothless zombies.

We didn’t just kiss. We ate each other.

I was in a big city in a shady night club celebrating my own sexuality. I was fully aware of the fact there were people mere feet away from us, staring at us in silent disbelief over how Guy #27 and I were going at each other.

When you have sex it’s nice not to care about what the rest of the world thinks of it.

Naturally I ended up at Guy #27’s place, a beautiful Downtown apartment overlooking the city skyline. I was living a dream.

The great thing about careless sex is that it allows you to open up to someone. Guy #27 and I got to know each other quite well over the few months we dated. In some ways we had a little bit of a relationship-thing going on. We went out for dinner together. We ate breakfast together. We would talk together. We would be together.

A big city becomes so much more of an experience when you have someone to share it with.

Sexwise, the gorging stopped after our first date. The sex between us became increasingly satisfying, but neither one of us was being greedy about it anymore.

I guess you could say Guy #27 and I were both very good recreational drug users. You might argue the two of us were having a recreationship. I enjoyed being with Guy #27 the way I enjoyed a good massage or a nice dinner. Or drugs.

Guy #27 had made his home in the city we enjoyed together. To me this city was merely a stopover. Our recreationship was never meant to last.
The two of us recently got back in touch though. It’s a nice feeling when someone welcomes you back into their life after having been absent from it for years.
Guy #27 told me he has fond memories of the time we shared together. He also said he had enjoyed the sex, but that he has since gotten better at it.

I told him the same goes for me.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 2 months
FORMAT: Recreationship
SEX SCORE (0 = Club music at a funeral <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.8

Guy #26 – Commitment is not a choice…

Gays and monogamy.

Sometimes it seems the two go together like alcohol and a hangover.

Commitment can be a wonderful thing, but it requires a lot of self esteem for it to be wonderful. I don’t think Guy #26 had a lot of that to go around.

I never met the other half of Guy #26, but he painted a picture of a possessive and belittling jerk who physically abused him sometimes.
‘Why do you stay with him?’ I asked. Guy #26 was unable to give me a clear answer.

I guess relationships can be like addictions. They can make you high at first, after which you forever ache to feel as high as you did that very first time.

Any addict will tell you the first high is always the best, though.

Guy #26 seemed very depressed because of his relationship. He knew he loved his boyfriend, but the reasons for this love had dissipated over the years. There probably never had been any real reasons to begin with, just a short spree of intense joy that disappeared the moment Guy #26 committed himself to feeling that high again.

In search of a surrogate he had uploaded a few selfies on Craigslist, where his path crossed with mine.

Apart from discovering my fist fitted into Guy #26’s anus this one time, the sex between us can best be described as lovingly pornographic, or maybe the word is simply passionate. Guy #26 wanted someone who could make him feel loved again. I was willing to give him that feeling on account of his lovable looks and equally attractive sweetness.

As time progressed we would spend less and less time in his house having sex, instead doing stuff such as walking through a park together, sitting on a bench and talking about life, love and what it’s like to be together and lonely at the same time.

Guy #26 had been very happy with his abusive boyfriend in the past. His relationship was now stuck in purgatory, his only solace being the fists of strangers.

Commitment can make you very lonely if done for the wrong reasons.

In countries where people are free to read this blog gay people live in a world where sex has become a product as accessible as a Big Mac.

Sex is not nearly as unhealthy as fast food and the experience will always be a little different. A lot of (gay) people fear commitment because they don’t want to miss out on experience.

The thing is, commitment is the experience. Much like being gay, commitment is not a choice. It flows naturally if you let it.

If you let it.

That’s the scary part. Commitment is not about holding on to something or someone. It’s about letting go and surrendering yourself to this thing called love.

Guy #26 was holding on, while he should have been letting go.

Letting go isn’t easy for anal people, though.

And something tells me Guy #26 was just that. Pretty darn anal.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 2 months
FORMAT: 5 secret sex dates that evolved into friendship, followed by passive Facebook friendship
SEX SCORE: (0 = Stuffing a turkey <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Guy #18 – Sexual fast food…

The first time Guy #18 kissed me his mouth swallowed my lips like a hungry octopus. It wasn’t good.
The last time he kissed me it was like floating through space and feeling at home at the same time. It was considerably better.

In fact, all the things Guy #18 and I did were awful the first time we did them. And sexually speaking, we did a lot of things, for a long time, a lot of times.

Of all the 168 guys I’ve ever been with one way or another, Guy #18 is the guy I’ve been with the most.

Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so.

You see, Guy #18 thought the moon is a planet, among other things. It would be easy to say his IQ was barely a two digit number, but then again, that’s what Guy #18 was all about for me: Ease.

For years at an end, Guy #18 was someone I could call whenever I was in the mood for him, as if he were a pizza. He always showed up at my doorstep in thirty minutes or less.
As time progressed, so did our sex. Some of my life’s hottest and most intimate moments occurred in the sole presence of Guy #18. He was my sexual fast food. And it tasted better each time I ordered take-out.

“I love you,” he would often tell me.
“You don’t even know me,” I would reply as I made sure his mouth was engaged in something that wasn’t talking.

I would eventually realize that Guy #18 and I did in fact have a very strong and meaningful connection, albeit a one-dimensional one. Our relationship was flat like a pizza. It was just about sex, increasingly magnificent and mind blowing sex.

The only way we knew how to communicate was by way of having sex. In that sense, Guy #18 and I had some of the best conversations humanly possible. Words just weren’t a part of it.

Guy #18’s stupidity was surpassed only by my selfishness. I figure it was on account of his low IQ that he allowed me to treat him like a pizza over and over again. I never took him seriously. Part of me even embraced the fact that I could get ever increasingly awesome sex without the risk of getting hurt. Call me heartless, but people who believe the moon is a planet can’t hurt me or my feelings.

Enjoyable as fast food can be, no one wants to eat pizza every day, except maybe people who think the moon is a planet. I always knew Guy #18 would get to see me and my life from the sideline. He would always be disposable. I was never loyal, meaning I went from Guy #19 all the way through Guy #130 during the time Guy #18 was a part of my life.

As it turns out I ended up hurting Guy #18 quite a lot, though I’d like to think he also found true happiness in me, the way I found true happiness in him. True, honest, one-dimensional happiness.

The thing is, even though Guy #18 thinks the moon is a planet, I do love him. I’ve come to love his sexuality, which constitutes an important part of anyone’s personality. On the one dimension we did find each other, we came to know each other through and through.
He was quicker to acknowledge his feelings than I was.

Guy #18 definitely outsmarted me there.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 5/6 years
FORMAT: Highly intermittent love relationship based on nothing but sex somehow
SEX SCORE: (0 = A vibrator that runs on diesel <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.5

Guy #17 – Not perfect enough…

I visited a gay sauna recently.

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept: A gay sauna is a facility where guys have sex with anonymous strangers in dimly lit conditions.

The first guy to hit on me was a chubby guy with a funny accent.
“Hi, you pretty boy,” he said as he sat down next to me and laid his arm around my neck.
“Thank you,” I said, as I pushed his arm back where it came from.
“Where you from?”
“I live in the Caribbean.”
“Ah, Asia.”
“Not quite.”
Silently, we sat next to each other for a moment. Not wanting to be impolite, I stretched our conversation somewhat: “Where are you from?”
“Eritrea.”
“Wow. What’s it like being gay over there?”
“I’m no gay. I have wife and kids. I’m bi.”
“So does your wife know you go to gay saunas?”
“No, she not know. I’m no gay. Only once a year I come here and fuck boy. You boy.”
I wished my Eritrean bisexual acquaintance good luck on his quest for a boy that was not me.

The second guy was clearly on drugs.
“Do you think my hair looks scruffy?” he asked.
“You mean curly?”
“No, I know it’s curly. It’s supposed to be curly. It just feels scruffy. Really scruffy.”
“I don’t think anyone will notice in this light.”
“How about my teeth?”
“What about your teeth?”
“Is there plaque on my teeth?”
The guy showed me his smoker’s teeth. I told him his teeth looked fine, though he reminded me I really ought to quit smoking.

The third guy had a job at airport security. He told me he sent off passengers for flight MH 17 last year, the one that got shot down over the Ukraine.
“There was this one man who arrived at the gate late, afraid he had missed his flight. I helped him get on board. I remember his relief for having made it.”
“It must be unreal to realize you saw so many people that were just hours away from their deaths.”
“Yes, it was. I needed some time to cope with it. So, are you a bottom?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant at this point.”

It’s nights like these that make me miss people like Guy #17.

Guy #17 could have been the real thing.

I believe every body goes through life aching for and because of that real thing. A gay sauna is a place where intimacy meets up with lust, the way a symphony orchestra could accompany a rock band. It’s a place where people can find love with minimal amounts of hurt. It’s also a place where people get high on poppers, XTC and roofies, or just plain weed in my case. I believe we take those drugs because they obliterate the hurt that comes with love, in each and every sense of the word.

Guy #17 was a nerd, living proof of the fact that the brain is by far the sexiest organ. Seriously, I get really turned on by a guy who can have a conversation about quantum physics during sex.
We ended up dating for a few months. I mostly remember how much I felt at home whenever we simply lay in bed together, against each other, not saying anything, exhausted from all the physics we’d done.

I think Guy #17 fell in love with me somewhat. I on the other hand wasn’t ready for that. I knew there was still so much I wanted to explore. If love were to find its way to me, I figured, it would have to be perfect in each and every way. And Guy #17 wasn’t perfect. For example, this one time he got a little drunk and I didn’t really like him that way.
So there was that.

Of course, the only place I ever met the perfect guy was at a gay sauna. And Guy #106 was only perfect because he never called me back, and because I was high at the time.

Guy #17 and I never broke up. We simply stopped seeing each other. I wasn’t ready to commit myself to someone with imperfections. The distance flowed naturally from there on out.

Still, in the dark corridors of a gay sauna, where complete strangers engage in a battle of lust, love, rejection and ostensible perfection, it’s easy to miss a guy who could explain relativity to me when it mattered the most: during sex.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 7 years and counting
FORMAT: A few months of dating, followed by friendship (mostly on Facebook) that lasts till this day
SEX SCORE (0 = A Twilight movie marathon <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #13 – The tourist…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND THIS SITE
PREVIOUS GUYS

A few days ago Guy #13 sent me a message on Facebook, asking me how I was doing.

Guy #13 is a nice memory. We once spent a wonderful weekend in his hotel room. He was the first guy I was ever romantic with, cuddly even. Even though I somehow still hadn’t let go of the idea that I was merely a bicurious straight guy that was only experimenting, I had already experimented pretty much everything there was to experiment.

The only part of gay sex I hadn’t touched yet was the love part.

Guy #13 was a tourist. The expiry date of our relationship was written on his visa. Plus he stayed in a hotel, meaning I could experiment with love in style.
Over the years I’ve come to view hotels as places where you can go to have sex. Sex with amenities can be pretty awesome.
As was the case with Guy #13. I was on vacation as much as he was.

Because Guy #13 had a date with customs Sunday evening, I carefully allowed myself to let this fling be more than something purely physical. I permitted Guy #13 to take pictures of us on his balcony, posing as two people who are in love. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but I allowed it for the sake of the experiment.

Guy #13 was an incredibly sweet, caring and sensitive person. I also remember him as being somewhat depressed. He spent a lot of time lamenting the fact we had so little time together, almost as if we had met on board the Titanic.

Love was clearly an experience I needed to ease into, much like every other aspect of gay sex had been.

As we sat through our last supper together, Guy #13 once again became a bit sappy. I appreciated the sense of intimacy it created, so I went along with it. Guy #13 suggested the song playing in the background could be ‘our song’. I must have said it was an awesome idea.
No, I don’t have a clue what our song was. It must have slipped my mind before I had finished my meal.

I do remember I was having the best fried chicken I ever had.

After Guy #13 flew back to his home island, we stayed in touch for a short while. I acknowledged him for making me feel something I had never felt with someone before. But I never imagined him being more than an acknowledgement. I always had the feeling he felt bad about the way I treated him.

I do feel a bit guilty toward Guy #13. I let him pay for the chicken, promising I’d get the next one.

Guess I owe him.

I replied to his Facebook inquiry, saying I am doing fine and asking him the same question in return. He told me he doesn’t live on an island anymore.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH (excluding Facebook friendship): A few weeks
FORMAT: One-time romantic weekend, followed by email exchange that quickly developed into Facebook friendship that apparently lasts till this day
SEX SCORE: (0 = Colonel Sanders in a jockstrap <–> 10 = the best sex ever): 8,2
HONORABLE MENTION: Popeyes Fried Chicken, once you get past the service

Guy #10 – Why I’ve been such a bad kisser for so long…

Our lips are basically a part of our body that’s turned inside-out. That’s what makes kissing so intimate: It’s when our insides touch, connect and shake tongues.

In my experience it’s not uncommon for sex dates to not feature any kissing, for the same reason Julia Roberts refused to kiss Richard Gere throughout Pretty Woman: Kissing a complete stranger mimics the intimacy I believe all human beings both crave and fear. Kissing is a slippery slope.

Personally, I’m a big fan of kissing. Sex is infinitely better when lip-to-lip action is on the menu.

Except in the case of Guy #10.
Not all lips are created equal.

It would be unfair to say Guy #10 was a bad kisser. It’s just that his labial anatomy had completely failed him. That much became clear the moment our lips touched.

From a distance Guy #10’s lips appeared completely ordinary. Only upon first contact did I discover he lacked the capability to move his lips in any meaningful way. They were just there, stiff and motionless, tight and cold, lifeless and dry.

I’m not judging Guy #10. I for one have quite a few incurable genetic setbacks myself: I can’t blink my eyes separately, I can’t make my ears move, I can’t curl up my tongue, I can’t whistle, I can’t get my jaw to make that clicking sound, I can’t separate my ring finger from my middle finger like Dr. Spock. The list of my innate fallacies is endless.

However, lipwise I’m pretty well endowed and to me, kissing is a dichotomous variable. Either you kiss or you don’t.

Except of course in the case of Guy #10.

I imagine kissing a blow-up doll most closely resembles the touch of Guy #10’s lips. I could sense he was trying to keep up with mine, but he didn’t stand a chance. His lips were like a sphinx cat fencing off a T-Rex.
Guy #143 once told me I kiss too fiercely. I think my aggressive kissing philosophy has been a contributing factor in losing many guys over the years. Sometimes I wish I had known before Guy #143 straight out told me my kissing was a bit too much “in his face”. Guy #10 could have benefitted from that.

Apart from his lips being small and cold, perhaps the main reason Guy #10 couldn’t keep up was because he wasn’t looking for any intimacy. I was, even though I wasn’t aware of it at the time. The two of us got along really nicely, had done some pleasant conversational stuff and the sex just flowed naturally from thereon out. I must have felt some sort of connection. I kissed him to seal that connection. He kissed me because it was obligatory foreplay.

We didn’t kiss long. The rest of our date went like clockwork. It would be our only date, though. It was nice to regularly run into Guy #10 at our local gay bar for a while. We shared a nice memory but didn’t feel the need to expand on that. We had both erased ourselves from our to do-lists. I think I could have made him hungry for more if I hadn’t gorged on him so much. Then again, that’s why I wasn’t hungry for more in the first place.

Sadly, it would take me a very long time to realize not everyone likes to be kissed by a T-Rex.

I kissed too eagerly for years at an end. I never consciously entered the gay scene in search of love or something sappy. It took me years to finally learn it’s always been exactly that what’s driven me: Love, or something sappy. I must have unconsciously expressed that feeling in my kissing technique.

Unfortunately, Guy #10’s lips were the opposite of sappy.

I apologize for wreaking havoc on his inside-out.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 4 years
FORMAT: One-time sex date, followed by a few years of politely greeting each other at random encounters
SEX SCORE (0 = kissing a frog that doesn’t turn into a prince <–> 10 = the best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #8 – Caught in translation…

The story of Guy #8 began when the two of us bumped into each other one night under the fluorescent light of a dirty washroom filled with penetrant club music and the sound of a guy peeing into a urinal that had somehow gotten stuffed with toilet paper.

Don’t expect a love story.

Our washroom hook-up wasn’t the first time we had seen each other. In the weeks leading up to our meeting I had caught Guy #8 staring at me while pretending not to. The washroom was simply the first time our personal spaces intertwined.
Knowing any obligatory chitchat would only postpone the thing we both so obviously wanted, we started kissing each other. The room must have been engulfed in the smell of pee that lay scattered on the floor. Fortunately, sexual arousal has a way of dampening reality.

It wasn’t until Guy #8 and I got back on the dance floor that I found out he spoke French and nothing but French. This would prove to be an obstacle in our relationship, as he labeled ‘us’ next morning when we woke up in his bed.

The sex had been lovely, intimate, passionate and fun. Sex without words is actually very enjoyable. The lack of a workable vocabulary forced us to go at it intuitively, like animals if you will. We had but our bodies to communicate with each other. That’s hot.

Yet in my mind I was convinced sex was the only thing I was after. Odd as it may sound, I still considered myself to be bisexual. My closeted self still envisioned me having a life with regular vaginal intercourse that would one day produce the offspring to make my mother oh so happy. Sex with a guy was one thing, but I couldn’t fathom being attached to one, certainly not one I had met in a washroom.

As it turned out Guy #8 was expecting a love story. He wanted me to be his copain.
“Mais je ne parle pas Français,” I countered. It’s pretty much the only French I know, but in this case I thought I had provided a solid argument for my case.

Regardless, my rejection must have gotten lost in translation, because it didn’t take long for Guy #8 to start calling me numerous times a day. The one time I did pick up he started being angry at me in French. Lacking any words to contribute, I simply hang up. I ignored Guy #8 for a full week, during which he continued sending me indecipherable French text messages and leaving missed calls.

Since the local gay scene counted less people than the island from LOST, Guy #8 and I ran into each other again the following Friday. I continued my previously successful tactic of completely ignoring my newly acquired stalker. This proved difficult, as he continuously stared at me like a Nazi from a Tarantino-movie.

When I had to go to the washroom he creepily followed me there, bringing us full circle. Once again we met in a place where there was no chance of escaping each other’s presence, or the smell of pee. To the best of my capabilities, I explained Guy #8 that I did not want to be his copain. I believe I came up with Je ne veux pas coucher avec toi, ce soir, ou any other soir.

Fortunately, most stalkers are weak like cactuses in the Arctic: They die from lack of attention. It wasn’t long before Guy #8 stopped calling me and started leaving me alone, although he would give a few angry stares every time we saw each other again, which was on most Friday nights.

Guy #8 was the first guy I ever topped. (If you don’t know what that means, you’re probably not gay.) I had enjoyed being the dominant factor in our short ‘relationship’. I had also learned that intense sex can be caused by intense people, such as French stalkers.

In terms of playing the field, Guy #8 was an easy kill. I knew he was into me. Plus he had major dependency issues as it turned out. He had given me a sense of power I had never felt before.

Of course, with great power comes great responsibility.
Who would have thought the moral of a superhero movie applies to guys you meet in a public washroom?

Guy #8 taught me it does.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 1 year
FORMAT: One-time sex date, followed by two week stalking spree, followed by months of angry stares of ever decreasing intensity
SEX SCORE (0 = forever not knowing if Glenn from The Walking Dead is alive or not and 10 = the best sex ever): 8

Guy #6 – Sex with chocolate chip cookies…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND THIS SITE
PREVIOUS GUYS

Did I mention Guy #5 had a boyfriend?

Well, he did and a few days after spending a night at Guy #5’s place while his boyfriend was away on business, he introduced me to this boyfriend. In doing so, he also introduced me to the concept of open relationships.

Guy #5’s boyfriend would become Guy #6, in case you didn’t see that one coming. It would be my first ever threesome.

Guest starring in a couple’s sex life can be intense. It will teach you there’s no such thing as “just sex”. Just because a relationship is open, does not mean sex isn’t an issue.

And while the idea of a threesome might seem like a good one in movies and fantasies, the reality of it is that, at any given moment, one person will get less attention than the other two. That’s just a mathematical certainty. Add even a smidgen of insecurity to a threesome and you got yourself a cock fight.

As I was doing things with Guy #6, he would very often look at Guy #5, his eyes begging permission for whatever he was doing with me.

Although Guy #5 was very involved in our threesome at first, the night ended with me and Guy #6 having sex, while Guy #5 was sitting upright on his side of the bed, eating cookies, passively waiting for the sex to be over.

Granted, it wasn’t a cock fight in the traditional sense, meaning there weren’t any direct casualties. People did get hurt, though. At least, I think they did. I felt hurt after Guy #5 had grabbed his bowl of chocolate chip snacks, signaling that the party was over. Perhaps it was wrong of me to continue having a go at Guy #6. Maybe I should have called it quits when cookie #1 entered the scene.

At the time, Guy #5 and Guy #6 had been together for over half a decade. Sex may become a commodity over the years, but intimacy doesn’t. Despite the pure sexual tension I had seen in gay porn, to me it seemed impossible to tread on another couple’s sex life without trespessing on their love life as well.

As I was busy performing oral duties on Guy #6, his boyfriend actually offered us both a cookie. Led by a different kind of hunger, I rejected his generous offer. Guy #6 did have one, though. I guess he wasn’t in a position to reject anything his boyfriend threw at him.

In all fairness, I should point out it’s perfectly possible that the cause of all the tension was me. I had been nervous from the moment I realized I was going to be part of a threesome. I was afraid my relative sexual inexperience would be a factor. I wondered if perhaps there was some kind of “threesome etiquette” I ought to know about. Perhaps my own insecurities had transposed onto Guy #5 and Guy #6.

Then again, who in their right mind starts eating chocolate chip cookies in the midst of a threesome?

I guess sex is always an emotional experience. It’s part of what can make it fun. In movies and fantasies at least.
As you might expect from a site called 168guys.com, Guy #5 and Guy #6 weren’t my last threesome. After my first experience I concluded it was an area worth exploring, but not chasing.

Somehow Guy #5 and Guy #6 had struck the right balance with me.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 7 years and counting
FORMAT: Sex date followed by friendship that lasts till this day
SEX SCORE (0 sitting next to a smelly person on the subway and 10 being the best sex ever): 6

Guy #5 – Grabbing myself by the balls…

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

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

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

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

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

I had to go out.

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

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

That was the night I met Guy #5.

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

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

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

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

Guy #5 taught me that.

Relationship summary:

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

Girl #1 – The perfect daughter-in-law

Between the ages of 16 and 24, my life consisted of falling for girls I imagined could bear the grandchildren that would make my mother so happy. I got rejected every time. For some reason I always gravitated toward the friend zone as if it was a black hole from which there was no escape.

Except this one time.

I had already experimented with four different guys the month before. This had boosted my self esteem up to the point I was no longer afraid of people with vaginas. It was during this time that I met a girl at this improv class we both attended. We got to know each other and for the first time in my life, a girl didn’t show any interest in my friend zone. The three months I dated her were among the happiest of my life.

Finally, after 24 years, I was able to say I had a girlfriend. And not just anyone. This chick would have made the perfect daughter-in-law! She was funny, smart, sophisticated, witty, creative and independent. It’s not so much that I really wanted her to be the mother of my kids. I was simply thrilled by the fact I had managed to get the kind of girlfriend I had been picturing all those years. It was literally a dream come true.

Even the sex was good. It was intimate, passionate and very loving. And I turned out to be right about vaginas being way more comfortable than anuses. Though I can’t say I ever really got how a vagina works exactly. Of course I was immensely grateful I was finally allowed to come near one, but I could never quite figure out what makes it tick. I did my best and I believe I may have even been successful in some cases.

But I never fully allowed the female anatomy to get through to me. Whenever we had sex, there was a voice in my head that repeatedly said Look at me, I’m having straight sex! I’m actually doing IT with a girl. It created a distance between myself and the sex I was having. I guess on some level I already knew I had been chasing the wrong dream all those years. Girl #1 must have known it too, as she broke up with me after three months.

It was okay, though. For the first time I had met a girl that didn’t reject me. Looking back, that’s probably all I really wanted; someone to make me believe I’m not the Elephant Man. These days I’m thankful for every girl that ever turned me down. They were right to pull me into their friend zone, but at the time all those rejections were quite a burden to carry. Girl #1 shed me of it, at least for a while.

Of all the girlfriends I could have ever had, Girl #1 was probably the one I needed the most. She knew about my previous ‘experiments’ with guys. She probably also figured I was gay. She allowed me to gently let go of this heterosexual mirage I had been chasing for so long. Now, after 24 years, I had finally crossed it off my to do-list.

I guess Girl #1 gave me the confidence to start exploring more of the gay scene, weird as that may sound.

And while I can’t imagine ever having sex with a girl again, I’m glad to know what it’s like. If Girl #1 had allowed me to chase my dream of pleasing my mother with the announcement of her first grandchild, she would have made the straight lifestyle very, very bearable for me. At the time Girl #1 was the best sex I ever had.
Of course back then I didn’t know yet an anus can be comfy too if used properly.

I know for a fact I’m not the best sex Girl #1 has ever had. She’s been living together with her girlfriend for years now. I very much hope she’s a happy lesbian.

Thank you.

Relationship summary

Length: ± 3 Months
Format: Loving heterosexual relationship including meet-up with each other’s parents
Sex score (0 being the walk to Mordor and 10 being the best sex ever): 7