Personal – Page 4

Guy #80 – All about the abs…

Guy #80 had killer abs. In fact, his entire body was a cover of Men’s Health.

His penis was as Asian as the rest of him though.

Also, Guy #80 struck me as one of the loneliest individuals I’ve ever come across.

The two of us first met each other at an all male twink orgy one night in Amsterdam. He stood at the bar, quite obviously trying to hide his shyness behind his drink. Being the hunter that I am I temporarily rid him of his insecurity by semi-accidentally touching him. Touch became fun and eventually we exchanged phone numbers. It took me about four texts to get invited to his place.

I kind of enjoyed Guy #80’s loneliness. Or rather I appreciated how his loneliness worked for me.

Usually when Guys are lonely they get clingy, obsessive and mistake sex for the start of a commitment that lasts well into retirement. Guy #80 didn’t do any of that. Instead he made sure he looked good as a means to get people to stay with him.
His house was quite literally covered with magazines about fitness, health and ways to stay in shape after 25. Abs were his obsession. He even did sit-ups in my presence a few times. I think they were part of his obsessive compulsive disorder: I have to do 40 crunches an hour or else the universe will implode.

When I complimented Guy #80 on his body he shrug it off, saying he was fat. I told him I was the fat one. I really was. I recently had a mono infection and had spent four months in bed, eating junk food, watching entire seasons of 24 in a day and eating more chocolate. Still Guy #80 had less qualms with my body than his own.

Which made the sex modestly awesome, save for that Asian penis.

Guy #80 was into me. He made me feel as hot as he was. The difference between the two of us was that when he complimented my penis, I didn’t shrug it off. To Guy #80 the mere fact he was with someone lifted his spirits. His enthusiasm in turn lifted anything I had to offer.

Usually Kleenex signal the end of a sex date, but Guy #80 really wanted me to stay the night. I was happy to oblige him.

Of course I felt sorry for Guy #80 and his low self esteem. Apart from the many, many fitness magazines his house was void of anything personal. It was neat and clean and always prepared for visitors, but I could tell I was one of the few people to have been inside.

In a way Guy #80 reminded me of my former self. I used to be an expert in hiding behind drinks, desperately holding on to your glass even when there’s nothing but ice left. When I first started having sex with Guys I weighed my own imperfections far, far more than I did those of my fellow maters. I often find it’s the most beautiful people who think the least of themselves. It takes time and Guys to embrace your own beauty despite your belief in its absence. It takes time and Guys to let go of doing 40 crunches an hour to prevent the universe from imploding in on you.

Me and Guy #80 spent two nights together, about two years apart. Not long after our last date his Facebook status changed to in a relationship. Not long after that his Facebook wall started showing signs of a social life.

I’m happy Guy #80 outgrew his Asian penis.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 x 1 hour + 2 x 12 hours
FORMAT: Orgy hook-up followed by loving sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Sudoku’s <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guys #59 through #79 – To sex or not to sex…

I have a confession to make.

I’m not entirely sure how many Guys I’ve had sex with in my lifetime.

Yes, this site is called 168guys.com, but in all honesty 168 is just a ballpark figure. I had already bought the domain name when I created an Excel document listing all my sexual escapades.
As it turned out I could not remember all the Guys I’ve ever been with.

How do you lose track of the people you had sex with, a good Christian might ask.

The answer is orgies.

The year was 2010 and I found myself in what was arguably the most gay friendly place on Earth: A shady dance floor occupied by about 150 naked Guys, of which I was one.

As with many of my sexual experiences, I had fun, but not because of the sex. It was fun because it was interesting.

First of all, when you’re naked and you share a space with 150 people who are also naked and you’re all there to be naked and have sex with other naked people, some Guys make the assumption anyone’s testicles are up for grabs. Anyone’s, including mine.

I removed quite a few hands from my balls in 2010.

Also, an orgy with 150 Guys changes the meaning of the word ‘sex’.

When someone pushes you against a wall and starts to kiss you and then suddenly four or five other Guys show up and start participating, does that mean I had sex with five or six Guys? Some touched me, some kissed me, some tried to go a little further. Some I allowed to go a little further.

So did I really do 20 Guys on one night? It all depends on one’s definition of sex. For me it depends on having an Excel document that has to sum up 168 Guys in total. I needed 20 Guys to make that work. How many Guys I really did that night?
First, it depends on the definition of sex. Second, I have no clue.

I don’t have anything against orgies, but I believe the people I was with misunderstood the concept of an orgy because they misunderstood the concept of sex. Sex is about intimacy. It’s perfectly possible to share something intimate with 150 people, provided it’s not a drug induced ball grabbing fest aimed solely at lifting our egos above the discomfort of mediocrity.
Because that’s pretty much what this particular orgy was all about.

There was no naughty secrecy, no sense of breaking boundaries together, no intimacy of any kind. In fact, the Guys all acted cold and goal oriented. Nobody was nice to anyone. Everybody merely consumed everybody for the sake of consumption.

In fairness, I was probably the only Guy not on drugs that night. When you’re in a room with 150 naked Guys on XTC, roofies and poppers, sobriety tends to warp reality. Maybe I would have enjoyed myself more if I had taken the effort to get on the same wavelength as Guys #59 through #79.

Still, it was to sex or not to sex for them. Nothing else seemed to matter. I’ve done drugs, but I’ve never found myself on that wavelength.

As the evening progressed, tissues started scattering the floor like stars lighting up the night sky. Eventually, the music softened, the mood got killed and more and more people put their clothes back on. And then everybody dispersed on the streets outside, going back to being the total strangers they were before.

I took a streetcar back home. I consciously observed my fellow passengers. In all likelihood, none of them had any idea I had just attended a gay orgy. It felt like I was carrying a big secret with me. I imagine there were 150 Guys spread throughout the city, feeling the same.

I like Amsterdam.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: “Relationship”? Really?
SEX SCORE (0 = Your name on a Starbucks cup <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

Guy #58 – The perfect storm of bad coping…

Why am I doing this?

If you ever ask yourself that question during sex, that’s a symptom of being involved in very bad sex.

Other symptoms include loathing yourself, wanting to cry and having the urge to punch your sexual partner in the face.

Nothing was really wrong with Guy #58. I was just sad over what had happened with Guy #57. I wanted to remedy my sadness by having sex.

Guy #58 was not at all like his antiquated selfies. He had bad breath. Then there was the fact he spoke Spanish fluently and two words of English, the exact opposite of my linguistic feats.

Guy #58 insisted on assuming that everything I said was a joke. He laughed no matter what I said. It was excruciating.

A friend of mine who reads this blog recently told me I have a problem with having sex out of empathy. I guess he’s right.

The only reason I went on to have sex with Guy #58 was politeness. Part of me wanted to not be with Guy #58, but another part didn’t want to disappoint him. Guy #58 was obviously very happy to be with me. Why else would he be laughing all the time?

As I allowed Guy #58 to go down on me, I did anything in my power to not make it a memory. It helped that I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

The worst part came when Guy #58 wanted to chill out with me afterward. He wanted to cuddle. I wanted him erased from my brain. You don’t need language to have sex with someone. You need language to wrap it up.
Not knowing any Spanish except Adios, I said Adios and started putting my clothes back on. That’s when the laughter stopped. Guy #58 started a rant. I will never know what he was trying to tell me, but he was visibly distraught over me getting dressed.

Guy #58 might have actually been a nice Guy. He just wasn’t capable of releasing me from my sadness, which I’ll admit was a bit of an unreasonable expectation on my end. I probably wasn’t friendly toward Guy #58. I couldn’t help but resent him for not being Guy #57.
The moment I was fully dressed I held out my arm to shake Guy #58’s hand. For someone who wanted to cuddle up with my naked me, that came as a disappointment. I decided not to acknowledge his disappointment in any way by turning around and leaving his house to catch the first train home.

Sometimes I amaze myself with my terrible coping strategies. Guy #58 was the perfect storm of bad coping: Seeking sex to get over someone –> Having sex out of politeness –> Expecting not to feel sad anymore.

I literally cried myself to sleep the night I met Guy #58.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 30 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = “Luke, I’m your father, and Leia is your sister!” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.5

Guy #57 (Part 1) – Love.

I was 18 the first time I fell in love.

She was the perfect daughter-in-law: Smart, funny, independent and pretty.

I imagined us becoming part of each other’s family, going on fun family weekends. I had literally dreamed about us making tender love on one of our camping trips. In my heart I was ready to start naming our future children.

She ended up dating one of my best friends. I was devastated.

I can still relive the exact moment I found out about it. From that moment on every time I saw her my stomach turned. Every time she was close I stopped thinking, instead being consumed by sadness and disbelief.

It took me a whole year before I could act normal in her presence. I kept hoping she would call me one day and tell me she had made a terrible mistake, that I had always been her one true love and that she wanted to start talking about names for our babies.

Had I known I would go on to have sex with at least 168 Guys in my life, it might not have devastated me quite as much.

Love never hurt me as much as it did that time with her. It’s not because it was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but the first thing.

The more often you fall in love, the easier it is to see the pattern:

Fall in love
Get high
Then you hurt
And wonder why

Ten years after the love of my life rejected me I had my first date with Guy #57. It was on a Friday night. It ended Sunday evening. It was January 2010 when I had the best date of the decade with Guy #57.

Sex had never been as awesome as that weekend. We spent most of the weekend in bed, just being together. This one time he gave me the most sensual massage that lasted two full Enigma albums. I haven’t felt that relaxed since then. It was, as that old lady from Titanic would say, the most erotic moment of my life.

We started our relationship in that phase where every issue can be resolved with a kiss that turns into foreplay.
Also, I acted under the assumption that we would not be committing ourselves to each other. I figured our sex was the thing that held us together. So we openly spoke about our sex lives, even bragging about it perhaps.

Guy #57 told me he was afraid of getting hurt. On our second date he was afraid of getting hurt specifically by me. On our third date he looked me straight in the eye and whispered: “Who are you!?”

In the meantime I kept on telling him about other Guys I was talking to online.

The two of us went on a total of three dates. For me it was the start of something wonderful, but I had no idea I was in love with Guy #57.

My feelings became apparent through Facebook, where it suddenly said he was in a relationship. I have disliked Mark Zuckerberg ever since.
I remember reading through the comment section, which consisted of friends congratulating Guy #57 on his love life, and Guy #57 taking those compliments like the total bottom that he was.
Naturally I checked out the profile of Guy #57’s newfound boyfriend. I needed to know. To my frustration it didn’t have any pictures. There was nothing to compare myself with.

You can never quite prepare for when love hits you in the face, but it gets easier every time it does.

Still, knowing something is temporary doesn’t make it go by any sooner.

For a few months I kept on wondering about what had gone wrong, what I had done wrong. The strange thing is that Guy #57 kept in contact. He would often hit me up on MSN. Only when I drove the conversation toward the subject of him having a boyfriend he would stop responding. And then he would pop up again a few days later as if nothing happened.

Over the years he would sometimes hit me up on Facebook to tell me he still misses me sometimes.

We even saw each other again a few years into the decade. He suggested the whole in a relationship-thing had been a lie to protect him from getting hurt by me. I’m not sure I believe that. There was a lot Guy #57 refused to tell me, but I realized he was never going to.

The thing with getting hurt is that it never makes sense. You feel like you’re going to spend an eternity not knowing what’s wrong with you. Of course there always comes a time when it doesn’t matter anymore. The more you see why something didn’t work out, the happier you are that it didn’t.

I’m very glad I didn’t end up naming babies with my first love. And I doubt Guy #57 and I would have made the perfect couple.

I’m very thankful for Guy #57. He’s the first Guy that ever hurt me, the first Guy I ever fell in love with.

It’s always the lesson that sticks with you when you’re over someone. For my first love it was Stop decorating your closet! For Guy #57 it was Don’t brag about all the Guys you’re going to have sex with if someone you already have the most amazing sex with shows a sensitive side.

I definitely took that with me to Guys #58 through #168.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5-6 years
FORMAT: 3 awesome dates, 3 months of avoidance issues that somehow clashed, plus a few years of on and off friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = Garlic air freshener <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.9

Guy #55 – Post-orgasmic cam session cool down.

When it comes to technology I always lag behind.
I survived the 1990s without internet. I didn’t get my first cell phone until 2002. I held on to this Nokia heavyweight until 2012, when Guy #115 gave me my first smartphone out of pity.

I was among the last privileged white people to go on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Technology in itself doesn’t repel me. I’ll buy it when I need it, not a moment sooner. If a trend is lasting it will find its way to me eventually.

By the end of 2009 I started exploring the world of MSN. To me it was like talking, only with fingers and usually not with people I knew.

Some conversations I had on MSN were okay, most were boring and pointless.

Until one day Guy #55 told me my laptop had a webcam.

Guy #55 was about 4000 miles away from me. I have no idea how we got to talking with each other, but the short version of the not so long story is that we ended up showing off our masturbatory skills in front of our respective webcams.

Cam sex was interesting.

I knew I would never make the effort to meet let alone do Guy #55 in real life. That made everything I said about how turned on I was a bit of a bright white lie.

A bright white lie in this case is typing something like I want to feel that cock inside of me so bad right now while in reality I was thinking It´s frustrating to type with only one hand. Why aren´t laptops with webcams ergonomically prepared for people engaging in cam sex? Surely the inventors of the web cam knew what it was going to be used for? It’s impossible to masturbate and type at the same time. Both require a completely different posture. So you either have to constantly interrupt what you’re doing or clumsily type with one hand while your eyes are mostly focused on seeing what the other Guy is doing.

Cam sex requires a lot of multitasking for a man.

The reason I engaged in a long distance cam session with Guy #55 was that I had never done it before. Like I said: I never look for technology. It always finds its way to me and when it does I usually end up feeling clumsy and incapable at first.

In fact, few situations are more awkward than a post-orgasmic cam session cool down with a stranger. There’s no cuddling, just plain naked awkwardness and still only one hand to type with. Figure out why.

;)

That’s what I ended up typing after Guy #55 and I had both cammed what we came for.
;) was the best lie I could do on one hand. I wanted to close my laptop and take a shower, but even at 4000 miles I chose to stay polite.

The most exciting part of ‘being’ with Guy #55 was actually the realization we live in an age where we can transmit our naked selves over thousands of miles. For free. As someone with vivid memories of the 1980s the technology was more exciting than Guy #55 itself.

They should design webcams that automatically fade to black five seconds after coming. It would have been the most honest way to progress my relationship with Guy #55: I honestly wanted it to be stopped dead in its tracks and never to be spoken of.

Instead Guy #55 and I ended up chatting for a while. I was despising my own politeness.

Guy #55 started insisting on meeting one day.

After our first and only online encounter he would regularly hit me up on my dating profiles. It’s not that I didn’t like him. He was just immensely focused on meeting up with me. It became a bit of a problem a few weeks later, when I moved back to our common home country, where distance is often measured in feet.

Politeness never ends in a spectacular fashion. I simply kept responding less and less to his messages, until I ignored him completely, regardless of how close we were. It has been well over two years since he tried to hit me up online.

I just realized that means he kept on trying for four years straight. Perhaps that means I wasn’t as clumsy as I felt.

I guess I’m better at technology than I give myself credit for.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years
FORMAT: ;)
SEX SCORE (0 = Onion flavored toothpaste <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #54 – Saying ‘No’ to Hungry Bottom…

The world of sex dating is weird.

Total strangers can commit the most intimate acts.

Right now I have my phone lying next to me. I just checked Grindr. There’s a 46 year old Guy named Hungry Bottom looking for a fun top just 3000 feet away. He says hi. He doesn’t have a profile picture. Plus he’s 46, which is kind of stretching the age envelope for me. Then again, I can be a fun top if I want to.

I was that one time with Guy #54, back in 2009.

We had met online and later in my car.

If it wasn’t for the world of sex dating we never would have met. He was like Hungry Bottom in search of his fix.

He was around my age and not particularly attractive to me. As he stepped into my car I wondered if I really wanted to have sex with him.

The drive to my hotel room took about 30 minutes. 30 minutes of obligatory chit chat can be an eternity on sex dates, but not with Guy #54.

Sometimes nature has a way of bringing good people together. Guy #54 turned out to be someone who knew where to get weed in Wisconsin. It’s the kind of people I like knowing.

I don’t remember anything else that we talked about, but I do remember it being very pleasant. We laughed a lot, understood each other’s minds. After about 5 minutes of driving I found myself becoming attracted to Guy #54.

While I still had trouble finding Guy #54 physically yum, it did feel good to see how glad he was to be with me. It can actually be kind of a turn on if you have the power of turning someone else on, just by being naked. Plus I felt completely at ease with him, cracking jokes all the way through the sex itself. Sometimes it’s refreshing to talk a lot during sex.

For a good two hours we were like best friends on benefits.

Afterward I drove him back home, where we said goodbye to each other in a warm hug. We both knew we would never see each other again.

As pleasant as our friendship had been, we both knew it had run its course. It’s just inherent to sex dating. Sometimes you meet people you actually become friends with. And other times you meet people that are just there to give your ego a push in the right direction.

That’s what Guy #54 and I did for each other.

Presently, I give 46 year old Hungry Bottom very little chance of finding his one true top in me. My ego has been pushed enough over the years.

Casual hook-ups are something of a psychological experiment, a way to meet someone on account of his hormones, or possibly a lack thereof in the case of Hungry Bottom.
Sex is a great way to get to know someone. It reveals someone’s strengths, insecurities, (mis-)conceptions, even hopes and dreams. Sex lets you figure out what makes a person tick.

Now that I’ve had my share of Guys like Guy #54 I don’t think I have to meet Hungry Bottom to find out what makes him tick. Guys on Grindr are often very much alike these days, especially when they’re called Hungry Bottom.

The world of sex dating is weird. It’s not monogamous, but it’s monotonous.

And that seems to be a choice.

Hungry Bottom would have much better odds if he had made the effort to say more than just hi.

Perhaps I sound old, but these days people don’t seem to be interested in hungry bottoms for the sake of exploration. They’re just in it for the sake of it.

That’s what I gather from Hungry Bottom’s hi. That’s why I won’t be saying hi back.

Thanks to Guys like Guy #54 I can now save myself the trouble of getting to know someone I already know.

Sex dating is weird, because we are all Hungry Bottom.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Minnesota nice <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #53 – Nipples.

Wikipedia says the following about nipples:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guy #53 had made me thankful for my nipples.

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #52 – LOST…

Wisconsin gets dark at night.

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

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

Big and dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To my relief it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I never saw Guy #52 again.

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #51 – Once, you go black.

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

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

I never got why any of this is offensive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sex was interesting.

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

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

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

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

Not the kind of thought process to expedite any arousal.

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #50 – Jaws.

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

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

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

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

Added to that, he was irritating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I suck at rejecting people.

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Six weeks of celibacy…

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

You will.

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

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

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

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

Anal sex changed all that.

And now the time had come to tell my mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My celibacy ended the moment I landed in Wisconsin.

Guy #48 – Summertime sadness…

Dear Guy #48,

Are you still alive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope you managed to overcome the sadness.

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

Relationship summary:

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

Connection

Guy #47 – Finding friends in the wrong places…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was looking for a human connection.

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #46 – The massage…

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

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

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

Here’s why:

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

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

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

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

Guy #46 insisted however.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guys #40, #41, #42, #43, #44 and #45 – To the moon and back…

Explorers are never in it for the destination.

Think about it. Neil Armstrong didn’t fly to the moon because it’s such a great place. Destinationwise, the moon is the last place anyone wants to end up.

It’s the same with parts of my sex life. For a while I was in it for the journey and not so much the destination.

So when my good friend and porn producer asked if I wanted to perform in a gay sauna, I accepted. It sounded like something my ego could enjoy.

The sauna’s owner had even made flyers for the occasion. Me and my whorish attitude were now being advertized in Toronto’s gay district. It was weird seeing my naked self on a flyer.

Of all my stories, I’m probably least proud of this one.

Lying naked in front of dozens of strange men who are also naked felt like being Neil Armstrong on the moon, without a space suit. Not the best destination.

As I was pretending to be aroused, I was wondering if a job in the sex industry would make me feel like I was floating in space naked. The emptiness of it all…

On the other hand, some of the guys that came by were not all that unattractive. In fact, the cute ones were allowed to do a little more than just watching. They would go down in history as Guys #40, #41, #42, #43, #44 and #45. Well, if I’m being honest Guy #40 was kind of cute. I allowed him to become a part of my performance. The other five Guys followed suit. They’re the reason I’m not so proud of this.

It’s difficult to strike a balance between inducing arousal and keeping people at a desired distance. I definitely succeeded in making Guys #41 through #45 aroused enough to cross the distance I wanted to keep them at.
A spacesuit would have made me feel better.

Still, while the moon is a desolate and lifeless rock it’s worth checking out. I was glad I did.

And after I was done performing me and Guy #40 did have a nice conversation in a whirlpool. I had landed back on Earth, where naked wasn’t so bad anymore.

When the owner gave me my check he complimented me on my performance. I had made people smile, or so I was told.

I got offered other gigs. At one time I was asked to participate in a live sex show on stage. I decided not to. I had been okay with being a product doing porn. Being a product for people to touch wasn’t my thing.

I’m okay with having the one memory of performing my sexuality in front of a live audience. It was another experience I was glad for having. I was also glad for not having to do it twice.

It’s not like Neil Armstrong ever went back to the moon.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One performance
FORMAT: Pretending arousal in exchange for money
SEX SCORE (0 = Sex that makes you want to wear a spacesuit <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.5

Guy #39 – The lie that was his selfie…

Selfies can be deceptive.

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

Guy #39 taught me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #36 – Pain relief…

Guys #20 through #48 all guest starred in my life in the summer of 2009, when I spent three months in Toronto. Whatever I had going with Guys #20 to #48, each and every ‘relationship’ had an expiry date.

A very big part of me resented the fact I was to leave the city soon. It’s not so much the abundance of sex I would miss. It’s that I met some people that could have been good friends or maybe even more than that.

Guy #36 felt like a very good friend for one night.

Sex dates are actually a great way to meet people. Sure, sometimes they have the formality of a job interview, but for every person that leaves you feeling empty inside there’s another one that makes you feel alive, valuable and even loved.

Guy #36 came to my place and had sex with me. It was awesome. Our sexualities were a near perfect match.

The sex didn’t last very long. Things went from awesome to modestly spectacular after the sex, when Guy #36 and I started talking.

We ended up really connecting with each other.

Guy #36 told me he had been in a car accident this one time. He said he didn’t know what pain was until that moment. His body was still recovering from it. Pain was a near constant for him.

It’s probably why the sex had been so good. It was his pain relief. I always thought of physiotherapists as masseurs with less sex appeal, but Guy #36 told me physiotherapy can be a living hell. Sex must have been like morphine to him.

When I told Guy #36 I would be flying back to my home country soon he seemed genuinely disappointed, but neither one of us saw any use forcing a clumsy transatlantic friendship just because we digged each other. We were fine with this being a one-time pain relief.

Sometimes it can be strangely wonderful to cuddle up with a complete stranger you met on the internet. Someone who’s been through a lot of pain.

I don’t miss Guy #36. I do miss Toronto because of guys like him.
And I really hope his pain is gone.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Intimate sex date with pain relief
SEX SCORE (0 = Lying to your parents <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.2

Guy #34 – Hunter or prey…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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