Psychology – Page 2

Guy #104 – Best pity sex ever.

Sexting.
Like smelling your fingers or wanting to kill your neighbor, sexting is one of those common things people rarely talk about in public. In the land of sexting everybody has libidos that last all night, cum spreads like supernovae and penises stay erect till the end of time.

Sexting often doesn’t lead to an actual date, perhaps because it’s kind of silly and everyone involved knows too many superlatives can only result in disappointment.

Guy #104 was my most memorable exception in that respect.
The two of us got in touch on a dating site and quickly entered a conversation that read like a porn script. Unlike most sexting partners, Guy #104 seemed genuinely interested in meeting up with me, which is why we set a date at his place.

That’s when he got down with the flu. Usually people get down with the flu as a polite way of saying On second thought, I don’t want you in my house, but Guy #104 insisted we’d meet a week later.

A week later he still had the flu.

The thing with sexting is it’s kind of like sex itself: It can’t go on forever. Eventually Guy #104 and I started talking about other stuff, most notably about the fact he stayed in flu mode for so long.

As Guy #104 revealed more and more of his symptoms I realized he probably didn’t have the flu, but Acute HIV Infection. Not wanting to burden him with my hypochondria, I didn’t tell him about my suspicions at first.
But when another week passed during which his flu didn’t, Guy #104 told me he had seen a doctor who also deemed HIV the most likely culprit. Shortly after his test came back positive.

Needless to say Guy #104 was devastated. Like so many gay Guys he had barebacked his way through a recent date and subsequently became part of that statistic no one wants to be a part of.

There’s no arousal to be found in a sentence like Hm, yeah, Ima slide that condom on so hard. That’s why in the land of sexting the hypothetical sex is always a bareback extravaganza. Guy #104 and I had sexted each other about doing stuff some people get AIDS from. Now he knew he would never be able to do any of that stuff with anyone ever.

What started off as a lighthearted sexting session eventually took the form of therapy. Guy #104’s world was pretty much shattered and he could only confide in a sexting stranger.

Perhaps his biggest issue was he now felt unattractive. HIV simply isn’t a popular niche. It lets everybody know you barebacked one too many times. Guy #104 had trouble accepting Guys could still be attracted to him. So I told him I’d take him up on our date, saying I would gladly show him HIV was not a turn off for me.

We met sometime after his symptoms had disappeared. We spoke a lot about him having to adjust to his new status. He struck me as relieved, having taken comfort in the fact it’s not the death sentence it used to be.

It’s not uncommon for me to take on the role of therapist on dates, but never as much as with Guy #104. I actually enjoyed being able to offer him a sense of comfort.

It was during sex I felt his relief the most. It was his first time after testing positive and it was nice to see him enjoy himself.
For me the sex wasn’t great though. Guy #104 wasn’t really the kind of hot I had seen on his selfies and besides HIV we didn’t have much else to talk about. There wasn’t that much of a connection to be celebrated, but maybe that’s because I took on the role of therapist, even during sex.
Still, Guy #104 made me feel like a good therapist. It was definitely the best pity sex I ever had.

The two of us met on three or four occasions. He was the kind of friend that would say ‘Hi’ each time I popped online on Skype. I am however not a very sociable person when I’m not having sex.
I could tell I meant something to Guy #104 and was very happy to have been there for him, but I never intended to be there for him forever: The better the therapist, the quicker his patients don’t need him anymore.
And of course I get immensely annoyed by people that say ‘Hi’ on Skype.

Ghosting someone always comes with a pinch of guilt. I simply suck at rejecting people. It would have been courteous of me to let him know I was happy to have been of help, but that I had given him all the help I could have. Instead I stayed silent until, eventually, Skype did.

I eased my guilt by figuring Guy #104 would take comfort in the fact that, whatever my reason for ghosting him, HIV wasn’t it.

I imagine he’s been happily sexting since.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: Sexting turned therapy
SEX SCORE (0 = That thing with Freud and wanting to do your mother <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.8

Guy #103 – Sticky rice…

Hotels are great for having sex with strangers.

When you go online to find a date, Guys in hotels are among the easiest catches. They can host, they are willing and sex will forever be the best amenity the Hilton has to offer.

Guy #103 was an Asian guy visiting Europe on business. We met online, where we agreed to meet in the lobby of his hotel, where he picked me up and took me to his room, where we had mildly satisfying sex that lasted about 20 minutes.

The end.

Or so I thought.

Usually when two strangers meet up for sex in a hotel this tends to be the extent of their relationship. Guy #103 and I didn’t have any connection I deemed worthy of exploring, so putting my clothes back on was my way of saying goodbye.

Guy #103 however was new to the city. He wanted to explore. And worst of all, he wanted to explore with me. Fake politeness being my superpower, I accepted his offer to go for a walk together.

As far as I could tell nothing was wrong with Guy #103. I simply felt no more for him than I feel for strangers on a subway. Guy #103 gave me the feeling you get when a random passenger starts talking to you. The fact I just had sex with this stranger made things awkward and extremely tiring.
I would have been moderately fine with this had the sex taken place at the end of our date. Then at least our meaningless conversations would have led somewhere. Now we were merely exchanging increasingly superfluous pleasantries that sucked the life out of me, all for the sake of being polite to someone I knew I would never see again.

We ended up in some sort of Hindu temple, where Guy #103 lit a candle and had himself a moment of solemn silence. While I find spirituality interesting, I found it odd to top off anonymous hotel sex with a few minutes of less consensual prayer.

Guy #103 spoke of a restaurant he wanted to try out. He said he wanted to buy me lunch. I said yes.

I really do suck at rejecting people.

We sat down in an obscure and rather filthy establishment. Our table placed us in full view of an abattoir where dead poultry hang on its legs. Our table cloth was plastic and the cutlery felt sticky. Having exhausted every other possible casual conversation topic, the food was the only subject of our discussion. My dish most closely resembled a watery rice porridge I imagine must have been conceived in times of famine. It perfectly mirrored the satisfaction I had gotten from my date.
I told Guy #103 my food tasted healthy, the culinary equivalent of telling an ugly Guy he looks sweet.
I’m not sure what should worry me most: the fact I lie during my dates or that I mostly lie for my dates.

When we got back at his hotel Guy #103 invited me to come up with him. The thought of having to go through another round of sex with this Guy was no more appealing than a root canal treatment at this time. So I decided to be honest and said: “No force in the universe is strong enough to make me have sex with you ever again.”

That was a lie. The kind of honesty I actually performed went something like: “I really had a lot of fun. It was really nice meeting you. Thank you so much for that lunch also. It was really great. I would love to come up with you, really. But I don’t really want to keep my friend waiting. I have this thing I really need to be at. We should really keep in touch though.”

We did not keep in touch.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 hours
FORMAT: Purgatory
SEX SCORE (0 = Youtube commercials you can’t click away <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #100 – The joy of revenge sex…

Guy #96 was the love of my life.

Well, maybe not so much the love of my life as that I wanted to do him at least once and be done with it. Sadly, Guy #96 stalled at dry humping every single time. He simply refused to cheat on his boyfriend. If he got caught, he could always claim we were just humping as friends.

Adding to my misery was the fact Guy #96 got insecure when he knew I’d be going out. So not only did I have to feel miserable the clothes were coming off for another Guy, I also had to carry guilt for trying to move on.

Needless to say Guy #96 was starting to piss me off at this point.

My previous efforts at finding someone to make me forget about Guy #96 had been as successful as the North Korean space program. Every attempt had been a failure, each one filling me up with more and more rage.

Then came Guy #100. Guy #100 was one of those Guys I could immediately tell was into me. He gave me the kind of vague but nonetheless revealing smile that let me know he was mine for the taking if I wanted him. The great thing was I wanted him.

Even greater was the fact Guy #100 was witty, smart and opinionated. Even greatest, he could make me laugh. In short, he was a cake in an ocean of icing, as I would have taken him home on account of his looks alone.

Even greater than greatest, most of my friends I was with were totally into Guy #100 as well. Filled with anger and sadness over Guy #96, it was nothing short of awesome to hook up with the Guy that was generally considered to be our collective dance floor’s best catch. In between our conversations Guy #100 and I went at each other in full view of Guys #5, #7, #10, #11, #14, #89, #93, #98 and #99. Finally my sad, sad ego was given the boost it had been aching for a long, long time.

Even greater than greater than greatest, I was living out Guy #96’s worst fear! Finally I was the one doing the hurting. No longer was I bound by the shackles of our failed relationshipwreck. Instead, I met another Guy and celebrated this joyous occasion by having him hump the anger out of me in full view of my social life. Life doesn’t get much better than that.

When I drove home early the next morning I felt jubilant, victorious and gay as in happy. As I sat in my car, alone, I literally screamed my guts out: “Fuck you, Guy #96!” (Okay, I didn’t actually call him by his number. That would have been sad.)

While Guy #100 had to go home the night we met, we did end up dating for a short while. He was an intern, scheduled to fly back to his home country in a matter of weeks. In those weeks leading up to his departure he became part of my inner circle. It was a relationship with a rapidly approaching expiry date, but a relationship nonetheless. It soothed me to be wanted by someone I wanted, to be with someone who wanted to be with me and to wake up next to someone I wanted to wake up with.

Naturally, Guy #100 and I became Facebook friends so that we could keep in touch, which we then of course didn’t.

Revenge is like chewing gum. It quickly loses its minty freshness and you inevitably want to spit it out at some point.
Likewise, Guy #100 met me when he was in tourist-mode. Things were fun because they weren’t meant to last.

Whenever two people have sex it means they want the same thing. It doesn’t mean they’re on the same path, that they want it for the same reason or that Facebook friends have meaning.

Guy #100 gave me my revenge. I gave him his vacation.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: Loving fling
SEX SCORE (0 = The prince kissing Snow White (seriously, think about it) <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.9

Guy #99 – That time I saved the universe from imploding…

Like most people, I’m not entirely free from OCD. I for one don’t kiss and tell. At a certain point in time, shortly after losing my virginity, I decided I would have sex with everyone I ever kissed. Just because otherwise the universe might implode and I would end up lonely somehow. OCD gets pretty creative when it comes to connecting the dots.
For a disturbingly long time, this meant every Guy I ever seduced on a dance floor ended up in my bed. Even today, kissing nearly always leads to sex with me, at least to third base. It’s a bit of a compulsion.

Guy #99 and I met one night. We spoke amicably and that somehow ended up in us making out to the beat of Waka Waka Eeh Eeh.

This time for Africa was the universe telling me I was setting myself up for pity sex once more.

At the time I still considered pity sex a better option than no sex at all. When I kiss someone it means I’m willing to invest in that person. And of course I also got off on people that find me hot. So while Guy #99’s head reminded me of the Roswell alien, I didn’t want to break my string of kisses that ended up in sex.

To my surprise, Guy #99 drifted off after kissing me. I expected us to hook up later and then go to my place – I don’t dry hump someone on a dance floor unless I mean business. The fate of the universe depends on it after all.
Instead Guy #99 simply went home at some point.

That had never happened to me. Every Guy I ever kissed had seen me naked as well. For a long time, Guy #99 was the only exception, the weakest link in my chain.

It wasn’t until a few years later I ran into Guy #99 again. By this time some of the Guys that had seen me naked had looked very good naked themselves. Guy #99 looked like an alien, which I’m not into.

On the other hand, it was actually rather nice running into each other. Guy #99 was incredibly friendly and warm hearted, and his head was truly kind of good looking, except of course for its disproportionally small body.
Added to that Guy #99 was really into me. I felt bad turning down his enormous head.

For the sake of the universe I decided to have another try with Guy #99. I had kissed him once before. I simply had to do him.
We kissed again and sure enough, a few weeks later he finally visited me at my place.

It was on a Friday. I picked him up at his school campus. Having just finished a busy work week, I came wearing a tie, emphasizing the age difference between us. Age difference would turn out to be a major theme throughout our date.

As we drove to my house we mostly talked about homework. During our conversation he sang pop songs I had never heard before.

The thing is, his big head being so weird I had trouble seeing anything but weirdness. The fact our date was rooted in OCD probably didn’t help either.

Once we were at my place having sex, he started singing Britney Spears songs. I’m pretty sure it meant he was enjoying himself. He sang Toxic.
Actually, he didn’t just sing, he gave a performance, complete with his own choreography. To be fair, Guy #99 deserves credit for combining dancing and riding so graciously.

It wasn’t doing anything for me though.

Guy #99 was well above legal age, but you can’t help but feel an age gap when someone starts re-enacting a Britney concert during sex.

I guess unrewardingly weird intimacy is to be expected when you have pity sex out of OCD.

On the plus side, the universe didn’t implode.

A few weeks after our one and only date I ran into Guy #99 again. It was at our country’s only gay nightclub. Guy #99 walked up to me right as I was engaged in making out with Guy #100.
“Can I have sex with you tonight?” Guy #99 asked me like Oliver Twist asking for some more, soft spoken and anticipating his inevitable rejection.
“We’ll see,” I said, pointing my head at Guy #100, the Guy I was presently humping.

As I proceded to conquer Guy #100 I saw Guy #99 going around the dance floor, initiating a short conversation here and there, only to timidly walk away from whoever he spoke with. I can only assume he was going around asking people to have sex with him.

I felt sorry for Guy #99. All he wanted was someone to validate him and sing Britney songs with. Existence can be a sad experience when such a thing is too much to ask for. On the other hand, even my OCD can’t compel me to pity someone twice.

I can save the universe, but not everybody in it.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 years
FORMAT: Sex date/Britney Spears concert
SEX SCORE (0 = “My loneliness is killing me” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5

Guy #97 – Going on the prebound…

When a relationship ends in tears, as it often does, it’s customary to remedy our sadness by hooking up with someone we have no emotional attachment to. It’s like taking a vitamin pill when all you really want is heroin.

In the case of Guy #96 the tears came before we ever got around to having an relationship. So instead of going on the rebound, I got myself a ‘prebound’ Guy, someone I hoped would make me forget about Guy #96 for a night.

While Guy #96 didn’t like the thought of me sleeping with someone that wasn’t him, I knew I had every right to. He was busy having a boyfriend after all.

Going on the prebound with Guy #97 served one single purpose: Relief.

Preboundwise, I could have done a lot worse. Guy #97 was easy to talk to, amicable, polite, sort of attractive and willing. We had a pleasant conversation that lasted a few hours and the inevitable sex that followed was far from depressing.

The depressing part came after the sex, when Guy #97 had comfortably fallen asleep and I was left to ponder my state of mind to the sound of his snores.

Guy #97 had given me my fix and it had been a decent trip, but now I was crashing. Given my innate allergy to snoring it was a rough landing.

The entire night I could only think about how much I wanted to be lying next to Guy #96 and not #97. I knew #96 was also lying in his bed somewhere, also with someone. I also knew he would be nowhere near as alone as I was.

I was wide awake throughout the night, trying to make sense of the ceiling. No matter how much I stared at it, my brain kept vomiting negative thoughts. I don’t remember what they were exactly, but my mind must have been home to a corny soap opera. People think the stupidest things when they’re in love. I’m no exception.

When the sun came up I was relieved to let go of the ceiling, but at the same time I resented having to start another day.
Guy #97 awoke in cuddle mode, not exactly the thing I was looking for. The thing I was looking for was lying in another bed with another Guy. I was definitely in the mood for cuddles, but not from Guy #97.

On the other hand, Guy #97’s attempted cuddle session did inspire me to get out of bed that morning. It would have been a lot harder without it.

Had I been in a better mood Guy #97 and I could have had a much better time together. He was definitely the kind of person I’d enjoy having breakfast with. It’s probably why he offered me some. Instead I excused myself by making up an appointment I needed to be at. I’ve lied to a lot of Guys in my life, but Guy #97 was someone I felt bad lying to.

I remember the outside being viciously chilly that day as I shivered my way to a bus stop, knowing I was out there in the cold while Guy #96 was probably involved in a cuddle extravaganza that didn’t involve me.

In terms of sex I suppose Guy #97 had been a decent date. But the plan to forget about Guy #96 had completely failed.

Both Guy #96 and Guy #97 were pretty great trips that ended in major hangovers.

It could be a rebound is really the heroin you take when you’re starved for vitamins, I’m actually not sure.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 12 hours
FORMAT: Amicable sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = A date with Hannibal Lecter <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #89 – Divide and conquer…

When I lived in Suriname, South America I wasn’t the only white Guy in town.

I befriended a Guy who was like me in many ways: He was a hunter, attracted to Latinos as I was, he made sure sex played an important role in his life, he used sex to cope with his insecurity, he was educated, around my age and enjoyed the perks of being white.

One night the two of us found ourselves on a somewhat discouragingly empty dance floor in our country’s only gay nightclub. He asked me to point to a Guy I considered attractive. We had met each other only recently and were curious for each other’s taste. And of course we wanted to know whether we would be playing the field as colleagues or as competitors.

After pointing at some Asian I asked my newfound friend who he considered a good catch. He pointed at Guy #10. Guy #10 and I had done each other a few years prior.
“I’ve done him,” I bragged. It absolutely thrilled me to be able to say I already had sex with the Guy my white companion singled out.
I could see the twinkle in my friend’s eyes. It meant he was now officially out to conquer Guy #10 as I had, because I had. I decided to let him.
“Do you want me to introduce you two?” I asked.
My friend gladly accepted my offer, so I stepped up to Guy #10 and told him I had a friend who wanted him. Guy #10 was happy to see me again and even happier to find out my friend was the other white Guy.

I didn’t throw Guy #10 in the arms of my white friend because I’m such a nice person. While I was fine with him going over goods I’d damaged years before, I wanted my friend to see how skilled I was at catching prey.

Guy #10 was also with a friend, a shy fellow I decided would make a fine Guy #89.

Divide and conquer. That’s basically what I did that night. I gave a buddy some leftover Guy from a few years back and then proceeded to conquer Guy #89 right in front of him.

I was marking my territory.

I have this intense look that works really well on insecure 20 year olds, so I went with that. Within minutes, Guy #89 and I were all over each other’s faces. From the corner of my eyes I could see the admiration on my friend’s white face. If this was the jungle, I was Shere Khan.

Nothing was particularly special about Guy #89. His looks were sort of okay, I didn’t pay attention to his personality and his looks were sort of okay. All that mattered was that I had asserted my dominance over all the other white Guys, all one of them.

I don’t know where Guy #10 and his second white friend ended up that night, but from what I understood they’ve had some good times together. Guy #89 and I ended up in my car, on the parking lot. We continued kissing and meddled with each other’s genitals for good measure, but by this time I wasn’t into it anymore. My audience had left the scene. Guy #89, still impressed from the look I’d given him before, was starting to irritate me. Making out on a parking lot with a stranger doesn’t really do it for me.

I guess Guy #89 became dispensable the moment I was the only white Guy again. We never made it off the parking lot. Not together at least.

Still I went home feeling satisfied. I was fine living in a small country with a small gay scene. I was also fine not being the only white Guy in that scene. Our country was big enough for two delicacies.

I never spoke to Guy #89 again, but my friendship with the white one lasts to this day. I even arranged him a date with Guy #16 once.

I guess I don’t just play the field. I aim to rule it.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 hour
FORMAT: Dirty dancing followed by pitiful car sex
SEX SCORE (0 = Chihuahuas <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5

Guy #88 – The weasel…

Moses should have given us an 11^th commandment:

Thou shalt not pitysex.

I never cheated, I never killed someone, I never coveted my neighbor’s donkey, I only broke a very small number of hearts, but I did commit pitysex many, many times.

I guess that says something about me. I’m the type of person that bends over too quickly. If you’d browse this site, you’ll find that pitysex is a recurring cast member in my love life. Somehow I can feel so sorry for people I do them the favor of surrendering my entire sexuality to their every desire.

Not to pad myself on the shoulder, but people actually tell me I’m too good. Perhaps they’re right. I pity a reject and then proceed to have sex with it. Not even Mother Theresa took generosity to that level.

Of course, it’s not really generosity. It’s just a deeply rooted insecurity that I rationalize as being generous so I don’t have to cry myself to sleep.

If I had sex out of generosity, I would feel good about it afterward. Instead, when I pitysex someone, I always end up loathing myself. And then I move on to loathing the ugly duckling I’ve just given it to. Generosity has very little to do with any of that.

Guy #88 was such an ugly duckling, a duckling who turned out to be ten years older than what it said on his dating profile.
That wasn’t the worst thing about Guy #88.

He was a closet case. Living in a closet makes you secretive and reclusive as you become a bearer of secrets. The closet had turned Guy #88 into a sneaky weasel. Everything about him was an act. I could not catch him on any authenticity whatsoever.

His most blatant lie was his body pic. He had managed to land at my kitchen table based on someone else’s body. He didn’t mention it and I was being too ‘generous’ to burst his bubble. He just sat there, knowing he had lied his way into my house, knowing it was only a small step from my kitchen to my bedroom. So instead of apologizing for his saggy body he started a rant about the closet being so lonely.

I could tell his melancholy was part of his act, but still I felt pity, mixed with increasing amounts of self loathing. For some reason my act of having sex with Guy #88 seemed more logical than just saying No, I don’t want you, you’re fat and you lie about everything, get out of my kitchen.

Guy #88 acted lonely. I acted generous. Together we were as sad as Kim Jong-un jerking off to a box of Pringles.
Between Guy #88 and me, I took the role of Pringles. It’s difficult to feel pride after such an ordeal.

All of this took place in Suriname, South America.

I had recently moved (back) to this country and Guy #88 had been my first date there. It’s a small country, where homosexuality is sort of just okay, a country with only one gay nightclub, a place where those few that were out of the closet gathered once a week.
That’s where I spotted Guy #88 a few weeks later, and again, again and again. He even tried to hit on me, again and again.

The bastard wasn’t even in the closet. He was just a sneaky weasel that happened to be gay.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 30 minutes
FORMAT: Pity
SEX SCORE (0 = Unresolved cliffhangers <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.3

Guy #84 – The stalker…

A fact of life is that some people are crazy. And sometimes you find out someone is crazy after exchanging bodily fluids and phone numbers.

Guy #84 and I spent about an hour together. It was good. He was very passionate, funny, kind and made me feel completely at ease.

He liked me as well.

I know, because I had forty missed calls the morning after.
Over seventy on the second day.
About thirty on the third.

In between came the text messages. The first one went something like Hey, why are you not picking up? Are you there? About four or five text messages later I was bombarded by F-bombs, raging obscenities and uncontrolled anger, interwoven with desperate pleas for contact.

The sex between us had been so good I had given Guy #84 not just my phone number, I had also deemed him worthy of a Facebook friendship.

Within days he began attacking some of my cute looking Facebook friends, informing them of the kind of slut I was. (As if my cute looking Facebook friends didn’t already know.)
To date, Guy #84 has been the only person I ever had to block on Facebook, and that’s saying something.

I should hope it goes without saying I had no intention of seeing Guy #84 ever again at this point. Nothing is as unattractive as a stalker.

Except of course a stalker that quits.

I have to say I was somewhat disappointed to get but thirty missed calls on the third day. I could sense Guy #84 was giving up the fight. Indeed, the few missed calls I got on the fourth day were obligatory at best, but hardly suffocating like they were a few days before.

To his credit, Guy #84 proceeded by creating a fake Facebook account, from which he contacted me posing as his friend. His so called ‘friend’ said Guy #84 had some psychological problems and asked if I was willing to forgive his shortcomings and give him another chance.

But after ignoring Guy #84’s fake friend the stalking stopped, barely a week after it got started.

In my opinion, the Oxford dictionary should define the word stalkers as follows:

Stalkers: Crazy people who are fully aware of their own insanity, which doesn’t make them crazy, just weak, manipulative and downright evil. Or, to phrase it liberally: Stalkers are chickens too afraid to love themselves.

But darn it, are they good at sex!

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 week
FORMAT: One time hook-up, followed by one week stalking spree
SEX SCORE (0 = “The call is coming from inside the house” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Guy #82 – Fast Food Sushi.

Guy #82’s first words were hi.
And I was going to let him.

We didn’t speak much afterwards. Which makes telling the story of me and Guy #82 a bit difficult. There’s not much to tell.

Sometimes you just have sex with a random stranger you run into. I believe Guy #82 was quite an easy catch, not the most spectacular one but rewarding nonetheless.
I still have no idea what language he spoke.
To me he was just another brick in my list, another number to add to my Excel sheet that powers this blog.

Guy #82 was like a microwave dinner that tastes like a microwave dinner. He satisfied my cravings without fulfilling my longings. Fast Food Sushi would be my name for him.
He was Asian.
I have a lot of Asians on my list.

My mother would sometimes carefully initiate a conversation about my love life. It always made me uncomfortable. Actually, I was uncomfortable talking about all private matters with my mother, whether they were about sex or not.

I think it’s in our nature to do stuff we don’t tell our parents about. My mother often said how happy it would make her if I were to be happy with someone. Of all the Guys I did, Guy #81 was the first one I ever told my mother about. Whenever my mother inquired about my love life I kept it vague, saying I hadn’t met anyone special yet, or that I wasn’t really looking. I certainly didn’t tell her about Guy #82.
I knew my mother would not disapprove of me having sex with strangers, but she would ask me if it was truly making me happy, if perhaps I was worth a little more than Fast Food Sushi.

Sometimes I wonder how much mothers know of what goes on in the gay scene, and how much we want them to know. My mother hadn’t exactly raised me to be the predatory top Fast Food Sushi came to know and love so very very briefly, nor did I envision myself growing old consuming Fast Food Sushis for the rest of my life.

I wanted love as much as my mother wanted it for me, but it would seem she was less afraid of it.

Fast Food Sushi, like so many of the Guys I ever had sex with, represented my youth. He embodied the idea that I was youthful enough to conquer any Guy I wanted. Guy #82 made me feel pretty for a short while.
Of course talking about him with my mother would be the equivalent of telling her I didn’t feel pretty most of the time and that I did Guys to rid me of that feeling, 82 Guys and counting. It’s never been in my nature to burden my mother with my insecurities.

Rather, I shoved my burden in Fast Food Sushi. It’s what he asked of me when he said Hi.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 20 minutes
FORMAT: Hook-up
SEX SCORE (0 = Zombie porn <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6

Guy #81 – Nearer to God… (Part 1)

I want him.

That’s what I thought the first time I saw Guy #81: Perfect body, perfect face, sweet, seemingly innocent and Asian. I have never hunted anyone down the alleys of a gay sauna as determined as I have Guy #81.
I knew he was out of my league, but I also knew that out of all the Guys there, I was the only one even remotely close to his league. It was a slow night and I deemed myself the best he could get. Guy #81 apparently agreed.

The two of us stuck together the night we met. It surprised me Guy #81 appreciated my company. I tend to get clumsy in the presence of beauty.

I’ve been clumsy with Guy #81 from the day I met him.

When morning broke he insisted on coming home with me. I let him. After an exciting blow job on a train we spent the rest of the day sleeping and cuddling at my place. We didn’t have any more sex though. Guy #81 told me he had been on XTC the night before and that he couldn’t really have sex without any. At first I thought it had to do with muscle relaxation, but as it turns out XTC doesn’t just add joy.
It rids you of guilt as well.

As time went by Guy #81 allowed me to get to know him better: He was a Jehovah’s witness in a family of Jehovah’s witnesses in a community of Jehovah’s witnesses in a world of Jehovah’s witnesses. His entire life had existed in a universe secluded from what others would call ‘reality’.
He was also gay: He spent his weekends in the obscurity of gay saunas or remote parking lots and his weekdays being a knock knock joke. In my eyes at least.

I often encouraged him to ‘just’ come out, saying his family would have no choice but to accept him for who he was. I pictured his family as a bunch of homophobic narrow minded simpletons, even though Guy #81 spoke very highly of them. He loved his family very much. I on the other hand couldn’t imagine loving a homophobe.
According to Guy #81, I didn’t quite understand his predicament.

He was right.

The end of times is near. Only those that adhere to God’s will are allowed a place in paradise.
Guy #81 handed me a few editions of ‘The Watchtower’, the magazine Jehovah’s witnesses give you when you open the door for them. It included drawings of happy straight folks enjoying a familial get together in the presence of pandas and baby lions.
“Do you really believe all this?” I asked in disbelief, pointing at the pet pandas.
“I know it to be true,” Guy #81 said.
“And what happens if you let go of it?”
“Then I’ll die when Jesus returns.”
In fact, by engaging in homosexual behavior Guy #81 didn’t just harm himself, he also prevented the Holy Spirit from protecting his loved ones. One day, in the never too distant future, the bad parts of the bible would descent unto Earth, killing everyone. Everyone except Jehovah’s witnesses. They would all rise from the dead and live an eternity in paradise. With pandas.
Sex with Guys would prevent all that from happening to Guy #81 and his family.

The more I learned about his religion, the more I came to realize that the life he led inside his community was a nigh perfect haven of love, harmony and understanding. Cuddly lions were notably absent, but apart from that his life was like one of the drawings in ‘The Watchtower’. Everything and everyone Guy #81 knew made him feel safe, welcome and prepared for whatever life could throw at him.

Everything except the gay sex of course.

I regret the lack of empathy I showed. At the time his religion showcased more compassion for his sexuality than I did for his religion. Despite their bleak outlook on the future, Jehovah’s witnesses genuinely believe they can help people and they are very accepting of those that don’t follow God’s word to the letter, even though they are certain those people will die soon. I wasn’t aware of the fact that faith, though stubborn and arguably blind, isn’t half as heartless as the real world can be. That’s what Guy #81 called his existence outside of his religion: The real world, and it was cold and scary.

Cold, scary, yet somehow tempting.

Leading a double life became increasingly difficult for Guy #81. One night I woke up from his screams. I asked what his dream had been about.
“Satan,” he said. Consumed by fear, he could only lay still and whisper.

For Guy #81, God and Satan were as real as his sexuality. I tried to explain that no God in his right mind would make a Guy as beautiful as he was only to not let other Guys have sex with him. I couldn’t fathom a God that cruel.
Guy #81 was never disappointed by my lack of empathy. He simply accepted that no one could fully understand what he was going through, except maybe God. And Satan.

Certainly not clumsy me.

It took some time for me to realize my atheist goggles warped my reality as much as religion had warped his. It’s easy to label someone indoctrinated and be done with it. I thought I was helping Guy #81 by trying to ‘snap him out’ of his belief system, not realizing how much God had given him.

We ended up dating for about four months, though it was more of a friendship with a sexual component than a relationship. We came to care a great deal for each other. Our friendship didn’t end after those four months, but our proximity to each other did. Our ‘relationship’ ended when I moved to South America. It was difficult for me leaving Guy #81 behind, left to fend for himself in the real world.

On our last night together we spent a long time lying in each other’s arms, Guy #81 feeling sad, me feeling inept.
Being one of only a few people in the real world that had ever been there for him, I couldn’t help but feel I was deserting Guy #81. I didn’t expect to ever see him again.

I didn’t expect Guy #81 to ever come out of his closet.

I let go and let God, so to speak.

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 #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 #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.