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

I’m not good at making friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An awful lot of work.

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

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

Who would’ve thought?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stuff that friends do.

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

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

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

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

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

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


Guy #212 – So who’s the woman?

So who’s the woman in your relationship?

According to quite a few gay people, it’s an offensive question for straight people to ask.

I never got why.

Of course it goes without saying that in a relationship between two men no women are present, but it doesn’t take a degree in abstract reasoning to understand that the question of who’s the woman merely asks what body part goes into what orifice.

I always thought of the question as a healthy dose of curiosity for the gay lifestyle. And I’m always happy to tell any straight person that arguably the biggest joy of being gay is that everything goes into everything.

When sex involves two penises and four workable orifices, the possibilities become endless.

Macho men can be raging bottoms as much as Guys with make-up can be dominant tops, so the question of what goes into whom often has a surprising answer.

Guy #212 was a Guy I met in this gay sauna this one night. He was a petite Asian of the shy type. To him I must have looked like a deliciously tall hump of white privilege. I gauged his appearance and thought to myself Sure, I can dominate you for a while.

I’m not the dominant type, but being so much taller than Guy #212 it seemed only natural I would assert some dominance, be in control and have him ‘be the woman’.

Guy #212 was indeed the woman of our relationship, for the first 30 seconds or so that is.

Being a bottom isn’t always easy or without pain. Guy #212’s facial expression shifted between pleasure and agony a few times, until it settled on agony and the words ‘Please stop!’ came out of his tiny mouth.

Sometimes you intuitively feel you can top a Guy if you’re gentle enough in your persuasion. I was about to go in a second time whilst reassuring how tenderly I’d go about it, when Guy #212 pushed me back.

From a top’s perspective, having a bottom shove you out that early is like going to church and being told god doesn’t exist. Liberating, but hardly satisfying.

After we exchanged some aimless cuddles, Guy #212 rose up. I assumed he was getting ready to leave, but instead he suggested to top me instead.

It struck me as silly.

At the same time I had paid €19.95 to be in a gay sauna. It’d be a waste not to bend over. And besides, literally everything about Guy #212 was petite, which meant little to no agony on my end.

To exchange my dominant mood for a submissive one was as easy as it was awkward. I imagine that sense of awkwardness was the common feeling that sealed our connection. I don’t care much about masculinity or femininity, but to switch sides halfway during sex felt, dare I say it, unnatural.

It wasn’t unnatural because I can’t go both ways. It was unnatural because both of us changed personalities halfway through. On the gender spectrum I’m limber enough to bend from attempted manly to reluctant feminine and everything in between, but to make the transition in a matter of seconds felt as weird as a Game of Thrones episode featuring a laugh track.

Guy #212 asked for my phone number after we were done. I hesitated, so he resigned to giving his to me. He rests quietly in my contact list under the name of Sauna 5 or 6 or 7.

Sauna 5 or 6 or 7 was a nice Guy and not at all unattractive, but being with him was just a little too odd to pursue it further.

I suppose I didn’t want to be the woman in this relationship.

He did make me feel like I hadn’t wasted €19.95 though.


Guy #210 and #211 – So you think you can choke my boyfriend…

“Put your hand there.”
“Grab his ass.”
“Turn him around.”
“Now choke him.”

These are things Guy #210 told me to do to his boyfriend, Guy #211, a few minutes after I met them.

This one night in a gay sauna Guy #210 and #211 came on to me in the most systematic of fashions. While it’s normal to be chased in a sauna, this was one of only a few times two Guys grouped together to get me.

It’s flattering to be chased, but arguably even nicer to be flanked by a pair of velociraptors. The apparent team work these clever girls applied in catching me indicated I was about to engage in a threesome with a couple.

When you engage in a threesome with a couple, you basically sign up as a guest star among a cast of main characters.

As with every television format, guest stars serve only for the glory of those that receive top billing.

But when you’re aching for sexual action you gladly accept the part of Bystander 1. It’s better than not being cast at all.

So when Guy #210 and #211 pushed me against a wall from two angles, I expected a threesome to which I more or less had to surrender, which I was fine with.

Like two actors in a main cast my two companions had clearly played together before, many times. Guy #210 knew exactly what #211 liked and vice versa.

Guy #210 quickly positioned me in front of him, with Guy #211 in front of me. And that’s when the instructions started:
“Grab his shoulders.”
“Grab them harder.”
“Spank him.”
“Now choke him.”

Guy #210 was the dominant one, and his goal was to dominate me into dominating Guy #211.

The thing is I’m about as dominant as Mike Pence on weed.

It was easy for me to submit myself to the instructions I was given, even kind of comfortable. I did fail miserably at being dominant though.

Being dominant on command is unnatural. Also, I’m mostly good at just being me, and that’s only when you catch me on a good day.

So like a guest star, I was allowed to join an episode, have a few lines, do a little routine and then get lost again.


Guy #210 and #211 were two American tourists celebrating Amsterdam in a gay sauna and they had picked me not so much to celebrate with, but to celebrate off.

I did everything I was asked, up until the point I was asked to choke Guy #211. I wrapped my hand around his neck, but couldn’t bring myself to exert any force. I’m not one to choke strangers.

My failure to properly suffocate Guy #211 signaled the end of our affair, some 5 minutes after it had started.

We politely exchanged names afterward and I wished my two companions a pleasant continuation of their vacation. They were already busy working their next target when we said goodbye.

Submissive Guys can be the most aggressive hunters. And dominant types sometimes don’t come out of their shell before third base.

It can get kinda weird when you made your home in the middle ground as I have.

Sex with Guy #210 and #211 was exactly that: a little weird. Expertly choreographed, neatly executed, perfectly adjusted to the format they were used to, but a little weird.

It was still better than not being cast at all though.


Guy #208 and #209 – The twins…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s great that I’m making friends.

It’d be nice to know their names though.

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

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

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

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

Orgies are weird.

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

***

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

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

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

I’m the worst.


Guy #205 – Close for comfort…

If there’s one thing gays are good at, it’s throwing a party, especially when it’s a party without straights. Or clothes for that matter.

In fact, the less straight people are part of a gay party, the less clothes will be.

The idea of being in a room with good looking naked Guys for the purpose of dancing, doing drugs and lovemaking may sound appealing to anyone who’s into naked Guys, dancing and lovemaking, but the reality of it is that being surrounded by so much nakedness can be a bit intimidating.

Because the only way to truly enjoy that much nakedness is to get naked yourself as well.

Naked in every sense of the word.

Naked means holding my breath enough for some abs to show but not too much lest people see I’m holding my breath. It means trying to look sexy but not desperate, eying others while trying to be eyed. It means trying to get to touch other naked people without being rejected, and rejecting others without coming across as unavailable, an exercise as delicate as playing a game of Operation.
Being naked in the company of hundreds of other naked Guys means letting go as much as it means keeping it together.

While I go to extravagant gay parties to hook up with hot Guys, it’s the presence of those hot Guys that reignites the very insecurities I come to shed myself of.

A familiar face at parties celebrating our collective sexuality is a welcome sight, someone you can walk up to and say Hi without it being awkward, someone you can get physical with without the risk of being pushed away.

Guy #205 was such a familiar face.

Guy #205 was not someone I would dare walk up to in a club or gay sauna. Luckily for me, we first ran into each other at this private party in someone’s living room. He introduced himself by seductively positioning himself behind me. Unbeknownst to him though I had just come from the washroom, where I had vomited some excess levels of GHB from my system. I was feeling drowsy and not at all in the mood for sex, so I rather bluntly pushed him away.

That was a bit of a dick move on my end, and I immediately felt sorry for it. Guy #205 was the kind of hot I go to gay parties for, so to dismiss him one second into the relationship was unintentionally harsh.

Feeling sorry for Guy #205, I took a few minutes to regain the high I had overshot, brushed my teeth, then sat down next to him as he was smoking a cigarette. We got to talking and, since it was the kind of party without straight people or clothes, we quickly worked our way to the sex part as well.

The sex turned out to be good, good enough to exchange phone numbers even.

A few weeks later I found myself at Guy #205’s place, spending the night and drugs together.

Nice as our date had been, I wasn’t in the mood to commit myself in the slightest. Hence I never really contacted Guy #205 afterward, nor did he contact me.

He had become a familiar face however, the kind I would often see at the many gay parties to follow.

When you find yourself dancing in a pool of foam with countless other Guys and one of your main reasons for being there is upping your ego, it’s incredibly comfortable to find a familiar face in the crowd, someone who once came onto you even when the GHB rendered you nigh unable to have a conversation, someone who will exchange a quick kiss with you, acknowledge your presence in a place where that presence is as casual as it is intense.

These days when I party the gay way, I do it to be gay as in happy. Boosting my ego no longer is a priority. In part this is thanks to Guys like #205. When you’re surrounded by hot Guys you think are out of your league, looks matter. When you can dance with a hot Guy you had sex with a few times, you can let go of looks and focus on the party.

And gays are good at throwing parties.


Guy #204 – Hottest consent ever…

The world is a beautiful place, but that doesn’t mean everybody you meet at an orgy is your type.

I first met Guy #204 in the company of Guys #200, #201, #202 and #203.

To me Guy #204 was the odd one out. He was the only one older than me and as such not quite my type: he wasn’t a twink, he had chest hair and he wasn’t a twink.

Yet on all objective accounts Guy #204 had the looks of a pornstar successful enough to make a living out of it. He was a gay Guy of the overtly manly type, sensitive and considerate, but with enough testosterone to perform magic tricks like changing the oil in a car, plastering a wall, doing some plumbing, or any of the other things I’ve never seen a twink do.

When I first laid eyes on Guy #204 I realized two things: this man is very handsome and it’s a pity he’s not my type.

Seeing as orgies are by no means all-you-must-eat buffets, I appreciated Guy #204 for the company he was, not at all expecting him to become Guy #204.

But when Guy #204 and I started talking, I did intuitively like him and his manliness. I’d like to consider myself manly in the presence of gay people, but part of me would bend over for a hundred car mechanics before I’d even think of attempting an oil change myself. Being in the presence of someone ostensibly manlier than me was refreshing if nothing else.

When it became apparent Guy #204 was into me I was mostly flattered, and I allowed him to come on to me a little. We were at an orgy after all.

It wasn’t my intention to go all the way with Guy #204, but it seemed that if I wanted him to stop, I would have to make him.

And I didn’t really want to make him.

Not because he wasn’t my type or because I suck at rejecting people, but because I simply liked him too much to reject. And I really liked how much I was liked by him.

Before long I was lying on my back on a couch with Guy #204 hovering over me, gently but steadily making me push my boundaries bit by bit.

“You’re not really my type,” I giggled, and I immediately regretted the possibility of having hurt Guy #204’s feelings, so I lapsed into a clumsy monologue along the lines of I mean, I can tell you’re very handsome, but I’m more into twinks and such, but if I were into manly men of the car mechanic type you’d be heaven to me.

Guy #204 calmly absorbed my words, clearly understanding them while at the same time undeterred in his ways. It was hot to see him strike a delicate balance between being assertive, keeping his distance and seducing me.
“Do you mind what I’m doing right now?” Guy #204 asked while showing no signs of stopping.
“No, not at all,” I said, enjoying the fact someone took the effort to play me and actually be good at it.
“I’m just going to continue doing what I’m doing, until you tell me to stop,” Guy #204 said.
“Okay,” I smiled, swayed and turned on by how smoothly he worked consent into foreplay.

As someone who mostly does younger Guys I’m accustomed to being the one in need of consent. But because I’m shy like a flat earth believer on board the ISS, my main tactic for getting consent is playing hard to get and waiting for even shier people to come onto me, a strategy that ends in failure most of the time, because gravity simply doesn’t work like that.

To have someone like Guy #204 make the effort to conquer my consent gave me a sense of relief I seldom get during foreplay and, as a result, during the sex itself as well. It literally gravitated me toward him.

Guy #204 and I didn’t go all the way on our first meet-up. I enjoyed his sexuality and the personality behind it, but did want to give myself some time to embrace his physicality.

I embraced it in multiple positions about a month later. And on several occasions after that.


 

 

Guys #201, #202 and #203 – Five Guys, one cabin, lots of fun…

I suppose the title above does a fairly good job telling this story, but for the sake of fun, let’s go into some details:

Guy #200 was someone who recognized me from my blog. He introduced me to Guy #201, his boyfriend, who was also there.

There in this case was a drugs invested foam party in a gay sauna where people go to be gay in every sense of the word.

As I was getting acquainted with Guys #200 and #201, Guys #202 and #203 were also there all of a sudden. Or maybe they’d been there all along. I don’t remember every detail. I do recall letting myself be carried by the flow of it all and somehow ending up in a cabin with four other Guys not long after Guy #200 had said Aren’t you that Guy from that blog, 160 guys, 1600 Guys or something?

I also don’t quite remember who did what to whom in that cabin. It was dark, we were high, the flow didn’t require me to keep track of anything.

Some people feel alive by jumping out of an airplane or climbing Mount Everest. My highs take place at lower altitudes: having sex with four other Guys is something that makes me feel alive.

And more than anything else I remember the feeling of being alive that night I met and had sex with Guys #200, #201, #202 and #203.

My guess is each one of us had our own unique backstory, our own path that had led to this small cabin designed for sex.

Personally, I was in it to celebrate my sexual prime while I still could. Being part of a fivesome with four people who were all younger than me was my way of convincing myself my youth wasn’t lost to the many years it spent in a closet. I was ragingly defining my pride.

As alive as I felt during a fivesome, that’s how deprived I felt by the memory of being a 24 year old virgin. A fivesome was the perfect way to rid me of that memory for a few hours.

Being with Guys #200 through #203 as we were doing our stuff to each other, my mind raged along with the rest of me: I am actually living this right now! I am in this moment, living it and inhaling every sensation! This is what being alive means! This is what it means to be truly horny and satisfied at the same time! If ever there was a perfect moment for a meteorite to strike Earth, this would be it! Please, let me be stardust again, right in this moment! Or rather, I AM stardust, sharing a cosmic bond with four other stardust entities! This moment of sheer joy is the end result of gravity acting upon the remnants of a now distant supernova, and I’m here to be aware of it! Life is such a grand miracle and I’m celebrating it by merging my being with other beings, made up of the same stardust, and they’re all using condoms so I’m not even going to feel guilty for enjoying this moment so much come Monday!

When I engage in chemsex, my vocal output is usually restricted to Hm yeah, Oh yeah, Fuck yeah or just Yeah, but my mind usually wonders wonders off to galaxies far, far away.

After the fivesome had more or less concluded, the five of us sort of clung together for the remainder of the night, eventually ending up at this afterparty at this friend’s place.

The great thing about afterparties in living rooms is that they allow for the sex to be augmented by conversation, allowing you to get to know the people you’re having sex with:

Guy #200 and his boyfriend Guy #201 were someone I clicked with on an intuitive level. I still run into them occasionally, and it always makes me feel a bit awkward. I like them, but I’m always high when I see them, meaning I never have any memory of any conversations we might have had. My mind’s always on stardust when I see Guys #200 and #201, so I trust my subconscious to take care of the conversation on my behalf. I only ever remember the vibe, not the content. I have no idea what they do for a living, where they live or if they have pets or not. But I do know our entities are good at merging.

Guy #202 was one of the sweetest people I ever ran into at an orgy. It was this sweetness that initially made him attractive to me. As we got to the talking part, I quickly realized Guy #202 was not what I would call smart. He didn’t seem to have a bad bone in his body, but the sexiness of his sweetness vaporized with every word he spoke.

I would run into him on a few other occasions, but the more I saw him, the less I treated him with the respect his sweetness was deserving of.

To make things worse, Guy #202 seemed very much into me, even giving the impression he had a crush on me, however breezy. I ended up ghosting his online attempts to get in touch with me, instead being awkward with him every time I ran into him.

Guy #203 was by far the hottest of the five, and as such I was the most shy with him. It took me the bigger part of the night to get closer to him, to finally have sex with him. As with the other four, Guy #203 was someone I only ever see at orgies or parties where being sober would be the same as not being there at all. The few times I got to experience Guy #203 without drugs he struck me as someone I can relate to on more levels than just a sexual one.

Of course, when you’re high enough to consider yourself stardust and you’re living the moment with four other people, nothing besides that moment really matters.

It’s why I’ve come to combine doing Guys with doing drugs over the years.

 


 

 

 

 

 

Guy #200 – The fan?

I first kissed Guy #100 in full view of about a dozen Guys that had come and gone before him, making the story of Guy #100 a flashback episode of sorts.

The ‘eponymous’ Guy #168 was someone I fell in love with the moment I met him. The experience turned out to be so intense and revealing of this gay scene we find ourselves in that he’ll feature in a book I’m currently writing.

Then there’s Guy #200, someone who also stood out for more reasons than just a numerological one.

Guy #200 was the first Guy to ever recognize me from my blog.

Over the past few years, more and more Guys have stumbled across 168guys.com. It’s linked on my online dating profiles, it features highlights from my sad selfie collection and I don’t shy away from telling people I write the story of every Guy I ever had sex with when they inquire about my hobbies.

Added to that, gay scenes are extravagant as they are small. Gay clubs are often a gathering of who’s who of who’s done who. Whenever I go out, I find myself surrounded by Guys who have seen me before, either during sex, on Grindr, or on my blog.

These days it’s not uncommon for me to go on a dance floor and have someone come up to me saying Aren’t you that Guy from that blog, 160 guys, 1600 Guys or something?

Anyone familiar with my blog will know narcissist me is not above sleeping with fans.

Not when they’re cute, that is.

Whether Guy #200 actually was a fan I’m not sure. We met at this gay party where XTC and nakedness were the main ingredients. He came up to me and said he recognized me as the Guy from that blog about all the sex.

To me, it was a special moment. People who are active in the gay scene constitute my core demographic. Guy #200 was the first random stranger to make me realize I’m not only read by people I know or have slept with. Being high, I instantly knew Guy #200 was someone I wanted to celebrate the moment with.

I did, though not exactly in the way I envisioned it.

I tried to steer the conversation toward Guy #200 praising me and my writing, but he didn’t seem that interested in my material. Instead, our conversation somehow ended up in a fivesome with him and Guys #201, #202 and #203, mere minutes into our relationship.

The fivesome was fun, but it lacked the Oprah’s Book Club feel I was aiming for when Guy #200 and I started dry humping.

I would run into Guy #200 on numerous occasions to follow, even having sex with him a few more times.

Whenever we run into each other, I can’t help myself: I remind him he’s the first one to ever recognize me, and each and every time he doesn’t quite respond to it on any level whatsoever.

“You do realize I will write about you someday?” I asked Guy #200 at some point. I believe that made him laugh briefly, but not in a way that steered the conversation into him praising me or my writing.

I suppose it’s safe to say Guy #200 never wanted me for my words. Which is fine, because I have no qualms with people liking me for my looks.

To me #200 will forever be my first fan though, even if deeming him a ‘fan’ would be like calling my blog the Declaration of Independence.

Not that much of a stretch when you’re high on XTC and the end result is a fivesome.


Guy #194 – The cutest Guy in the sauna…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I needed the compliment, badly.

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

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

Thank you, universe.

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

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

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

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

Thanks a lot, universe!


Guy #181 – Waiter must cut meat…

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

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

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

And he liked me. A lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another year has passed since then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That felt slightly satisfying for a few seconds.

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


Guy #179 and #180 – A hot Guy and someone who was also there…

Threesomes can be like a game of rock paper scissors, only rebranded as a game of top bottom woman. Of course, not everybody can win a game of top bottom woman. Top and bottom get along fine, but it’s not unlikely for a third person at a threesome to more or less just be there.

Some gay Guys don’t enjoy being the woman in a game of top bottom woman. Some don’t deal with it all too well. To be honest I only enjoy threesomes when I get at least 33% of the attention.

In that sense Guy #179 was a way bigger person than I am.

I first met Guy #179 in this whirlpool. Seconds after sitting down next to him he started feeling me up. Seconds later we were kissing.

It’s not that Guy #179 was really my type. The only reason I sat down within reach of his right arm was because his left arm was busy disappearing between the legs of someone sitting on his other side. And this someone was my type.

I sat down next to Guy #179 in hopes of turning his twosome into a threesome. Not long after we started kissing Guy #179’s cuter looking friend started feeling me up, quickly becoming Guy #180.

Guy #179 and #180 had some fun with the three of us for a short while, until it became obvious me and Guy #180 were top and bottom respectively, whereas Guy #179 was also there.

It wasn’t long before Guy #179 suggested Guy #180 and I should continue together, and then he got up and left.

I felt bad for Guy #179, but admired how much he accepted things as they were. He simply seemed happy for us. It’s not everyday I run into a gay Guy who can excuse himself from a threesome without even the slightest bit of negativity.

In fact, I would later learn Guy #179 had started feeling me up, precisely because he figured me and Guy #180 would be a good match. He literally hit on me so his friend could have me, or rather I could have his friend.

After Guy #179 got up and left our whirlpool I never saw him again, but I did stay in touch with Guy #180 for a while. I went on a date at his place a few times, out of which nothing really ever grew.

I suppose Guy #180 looked cute compared to Guy #179. In the absence of his friend it was just a game of top and bottom, without any stakes.

It was at a time in my life when I had begun exploring the world of orgies and drugs. It was thrilling still, but the more I had sex with people while high on drugs, the less exciting regular sex with normal people was becoming.

Had I met Guy #180 a few years earlier, I would’ve given him more of my attention, I would’ve never compared a threesome to a game of rock paper scissors. But once you’ve owned a Guy while another Guy is owning you, surrounded by Guys that do the same, all on a wave of XTC, GHB, ketamine, poppers and weed, sharing a cigarette with Guy #180 quickly becomes mundane and forgettable.

It was still nice winning a game of top bottom woman though.


Guy #178 – Matrix Me…

There’s two sides of me.

One is Matrix Lennard, cool, in control, super hot and capable of dodging bullets if only for showing off.
It’s the Lennard I hope the Guy of my dreams will see in me.

Then there’s just Lennard, my actual self, insecure, needy and incapable of dodging insults.

Guys I am attracted to are often a lot like Matrix Lennard. Whenever I run into a super hot Guy that has the slightest echo of a personality, I fantasize about the two of us living a perfectly sleek gaytopian fairytale in which we celebrate each other’s perfection.

It’s a pleasant albeit dysfunctional mirage, about as real as the Matrix itself.

The Guys that are attracted to me tend to be a far cry from the Guys I fantasize about.

Guy #178 was such a guy. He saw in me the super great awesome Guy I wish people will write books about someday. He expressed his admiration by becoming a saggy sack of compliments that got wetter each time we kissed.

Guy #178 was probably one of the sweetest Guys I ever dated. I could do no wrong. I could ignore him on WhatsApp a thousand times and let him rejoice the one time I didn’t. I could cancel a date at the last minute for the sake of going on a better looking one, and he would completely understand. I could tell him to continue doing oral even when his jaws started showing signs of old age, and he’d be happy to.

Guy #178 was without a doubt one of the most annoying people I ever dated. He idolized the worst in me, and reminded me of the parts I thought were even worse than that.

Yet I went on a date with him a total of 5 times. And each time I felt annoyed and regretted spending time with him.

My relationship with Guy #178 was like seeing Sharknado and then somehow investing in its 4 sequels, each time wondering why.

So why are there people who’ve seen Sharknado 1 through 5 and why am I one of those people?

The sex with Guy #178 was about as satisfying as the special effects in a Sharknado movie: silly but somehow rewarding, because you know you will never be as dumb as that movie. Likewise, the sex was as spectacular as an actual sharknado is likely, but it did make me feel like I was by far the coolest, securest and catchiest Guy at the scene. Guy #178 made me feel like Matrix Me, even though I resented him for being a nerdy sidekick that failed to live up to my own image.

My life at the time wasn’t going great. I was hopelessly in love with Guy #168, a gorgeous Guy I had met at this orgy this one time. He was everything Matrix Lennard ached for, and as such all but unreachable. Whenever I ran into him, I would lapse into endless monologues about how much I admired his personality, his accomplishments, his body and his personality. Guy #168 always got uncomfortable by me giving him the Messiah treatment, which I remedied by giving even more compliments. The harder I tried, the more he distanced himself from me.

Guy #168 was the perfect match for Matrix Lennard. Sadly though, Matrix Lennard failed to load each time I saw him. The only side Guy #168 got to see was my actual self, desperate, needy and highly capable of dodging hints from a Guy that appreciated his own space as if it was his to own.

Few things are more frustrating than being incapable of being more than you in front of someone you want to be more than you with.

During all of this I spent my days taking care of my ailing stepdad, constantly surrounded by illness, decay and steadily approaching death. I had no job, no social life to speak of and had gotten addicted to weed, spending large parts of my days in a haze Matrix Me couldn’t reach me.

A sharknado was just what I needed.

Enter Guy #178, someone who annoyed me to no end with his compliments, his never ending attention and less than perfect looks.

On our third or fourth date I had smoked a joint in advance to ease myself into it. Minutes after starting foreplay on his couch, the weed kicked in much stronger than I had anticipated. I got dizzy and made it to the toilet just when my Burger King dinner resurfaced. As I clung to Guy #178’s toilet, puking my guts out and silently resenting my life and everything in it, Guy #178 constantly hovered over me, asking if I was okay, if I needed a towel, if there was anything he could do. And then he just started caressing my shoulder, almost as if his mind was still on foreplay.

I believe everyone on Earth knows but a very few people they would like to be touched by when they’re coasting down a bad trip hanging in the aura of their own vomit while clinging to someone else’s toilet. Guy #178 was not one of those people. I was high, depressed, nauseous and could only think of Guy #168, and what he would think of me if he’d see me failing at my life the way I was. Instead of enjoying my gaytopian lifestyle with Guy #168, Guy #178 was occupying my space like a fly circling around my head, capable of dodging everything you throw at it.

Guy #178 reminded me of me a lot. Although Matrix Lennard has all the makings of a movie star, my self loathing self is actually a much nicer person, as was Guy #178.

When you sit through one half of a Sharknado movie whilst having no life to speak of, it’s easy to succumb to everything that’s wrong with a sharknado. My life was a mess, but at the very least it made more sense than a Guy dodging sharks with a chainsaw as they were falling from the sky.
So after I was done vomiting Guy #178 and I proceeded to have sex. Despite being a jerk to him, puking in his toilet and over his bathroom floor and resenting him for being so relentlessly nice and devoted, Guy #178 wanted me for the Matrix Lennard he saw in me.

I fought not to admit it, but part of me liked being admired by Guy #178. And in a way, I grew to respect him for staying true to his own character all the time, annoying as it was.

We stopped dating eventually, not because I didn’t want to give him more of my attention, but because he moved to another country.

Yet whenever I think of him, I know how irritating he was, but what I remember is him doing his very best to take care of me after puking through foreplay. And I remember me waking up next to him the following morning because of it.

When you watch a Sharknado movie, you can’t help but loathe yourself for wasting your time on something so obviously stupid. But when you remember that time you watched Sharknado, it’s impossible to hide a faint but definite smile. Somehow, for reasons as mystifying as life’s biggest unanswered questions, a sharknado makes you feel like Matrix You for a while.

Thank you, Guy #178, for being as annoying as I am.


Guy #175 – Donald Trump the aphrodisiac…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We got along very well, even becoming Facebook friends.

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

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

A second date never happened.

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

I have this habit of having dysfunctional crushes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did I mention I only do dysfunctional crushes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coming from a narcissist, that means a lot.

Thank you, Guy #174.


Guy #172 and #173 – Quitting smoking is easy. I do it all the time…

Gay saunas.

A lot of my stories take place in a gay sauna, even though I consider myself a sensitive person who prefers an intimate hug over an anonymous quickie. So why the many, many quickies?

To me, sex with strangers is a bit like cigarettes: every month you go without them is a good month. Every day you deprive yourself of nicotine a month feels like an eternity. It’s not that I’m a sex addict, but I do lack the patience to let life run its course. Sex tends to find me every so often. But if I actively pursue sex, I get it more often and I live life under the assumption that more sex is more good, even if it’s bad sex.

Enter gay saunas, the quick fix of gay sex.
The fifth cigarette of the day is not that rewarding, but the first one in a month is pure oral glory. On average, I probably visit a gay sauna about once a month, when I haven’t had sex for that long. Or when I have a free night with nothing better to do. Or when I think my hair looks good and I feel like showing off. Or when I just feel like showing off. Or when I just want to feel something.

When I go to a gay sauna, I hope to find someone I can talk to, laugh with, cuddle and penetrate. Finding guys to penetrate is easy. Talking, laughing, cuddling are bigger hurdles.
In part this is due to my narcissism: I only talk, laugh and cuddle with people that fit my image of perfection.
The other part has to do with the very nature of gay saunas:

I first met Guy #172 in some dark corridor. We pursued each other for a few minutes, passed each other while semi-accidentally touching our bodies and pretended not to check each other out. Penetration was on the menu, that much was clear.

Sadly, the sauna we were in was packed, meaning every cabin was taken. If Guy #172 and I wanted to have sex, we would have to do it out in the open, in the very corridor we met.

This is not unusual for gay saunas. Whenever I’m there I see people having sex all the time. I prefer having sex where no one can see me, but gay saunas are an orgy of compromises. Guy #172 and I didn’t have the time or space to talk, laugh or cuddle, but darn it, I had captured him as my first prey of the evening and I wasn’t going to let him off without me giving it to him.
We had but a wall to lean against, so that’s what we did, in full view of everybody who was there.

Here’s the thing with having sex in a gay sauna where everybody can see you: everybody can touch you there as well. To some people this is seen as an invitation. And for some reason it’s always the fat sweaty hairy old nasty Danny DeVito lookalikes that pick up on it.

If you’re a Danny DeVito lookalike who frequents gay saunas and thinks it’s okay to grope people just because they’re engaged in sex, stop doing that! You are the Bill Cosby’s of gaytopia. Nothing is more annoying than putting on a condom while a pack of Danny DeVito’s disrupts your balance trying to get a sense of what your testicles feel like.

Because that’s what happened as I pushed Guy #172 up against our wall and rubbered up to do my thing to him: people started touching us, wanting in on the fun. Guy #172 and I were more engaged in shoving other people’s hands off our bodies than we were with each other. At one point we even had to shout at someone to leave us alone.

Okay, granted, you don’t go around raping people like Bill Cosby, so let me take it down a notch: you’re the gay sauna equivalent of crying babies on an airplane. Imagine sipping on your first cigarette in a month time. Now add Danny DeVito grabbing your balls to the picture. That’s you – and I know you know who you are.

Frustrated by the people around us, Guy #172 and I moved around a bit in hopes of finding an empty cabin, or at the very least to get away from our intruders. Yet everywhere we went, we were denied the joy of consensual penetration by the hands of people who were even more of a stranger to me than Guy #172.

The bond Guy #172 and I had was mostly the sentiment we shared toward the people around us. Eventually, we more or less gave up and went our own way.

It left me feeling empty inside, but not undeterred, as it wasn’t long before Guy #173 and I started pretending not to check each other out. Within minutes we were all over each other.

To my surprise we managed to find a cabin, a space where no one could impose on our little romance. I could freely penetrate, and if that went well maybe follow up on it with some nice talking, laughing and cuddling, something narcissist me is in the mood for about 10% of the time after climaxing with a stranger.

Guy #173 and I quickly worked through the three stages of gay foreplay (kissing, oral and tentative humping), and then I grabbed a condom.
“I have this allergy for rubber,” Guy #173 interrupted me.
“And I’m allergic to HIV,” I told him.
It’s not that I never take risks or that I don’t hate condoms as much as anyone who’s never had AIDS, but like any sensible gay Guy, I only take risks with extremely cute people. I simply wasn’t high enough to consider Guy #173 that cute. I knew that if I would bareback him, I would only feel regret afterward, and that I wouldn’t want to talk, laugh, let alone cuddle him.
“I’m clean though,” Guy #173 assured me.
“Sorry, I just never have unsafe sex,” I lied as if I was Bill Cosby offering a woman a drink.
Guy #173 reiterated just how clean he was. It was hard not to believe him, as I really wanted to get my fix.

That’s another thing with gay saunas these days: back in the 80s, Bill Cosby gave us a laugh and HIV was scary. How the tables have turned. As such, Guys in saunas dispense with condoms more often than I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. Guy #173 only seemed concerned with convincing me he was clean. He didn’t even ask about my status. As we talked about him being so clean, I noticed the mattress we were on still contained the sweat of those who had used it before us. It made me realize I was pursuing a fix in the easiest, but far from the best place to do so.

Guy #173 took off after he realized barebacking was off the table.

I was left feeling frustrated, but nevertheless relieved. I was unsatisfied, but took comfort in the fact I wouldn’t have to spend the next month on the lookout for symptoms of acute HIV infection.

So I celebrated my little victory. With a well deserved cigarette. My first one in well over a month.


Guy #171 – The old Guy…

If there’s one thing I hate it’s getting old. I don’t mind picking up some wisdom here and there as the years go by, but dammit the skin around my eyes wrinkles when I laugh.

I’m getting wrinkles.

Perhaps the main reason for clinging to my youth is the way I treated ‘old’ people all my life. Living what I would call the gay lifestyle. I’m very much accustomed to people grabbing my testicles as I pass them. In most cases, the person reaching for my crotch looks like Tutankhamon on a bad day and the idea of him and me having sex is so preposterous I don’t even bother to look my pharaoh in the face.

It’s about as cold rejections come.

I could feel bad about it, but in all honesty I can’t help but wonder what those old men are thinking by having a go at prime-of-my-life me! We waste our youth on old cars, not on old people.

Yet each time I ignore a horny mummy as one would I realize that one day, in the less and less distant future, I too will become old. One day, there will be people who consider the thought of having sex with me too ridiculous to give it a moment’s thought.

I met Guy #171 in a steam room this one time. He was already engaged in sexual activities with about three or four other Guys. Usually I’m not the type to insert myself in someone else’s sexfest. I’m way too shy for that, except this time I noticed Guy #171 was surrounded by men who were way older than I was. We gave each other a quick look in which I saw relief in his eyes, so I went in. To my relief, he let me.

For a few minutes, Guy #171 allowed me to do stuff to his body. We even followed up on it with a kiss, after which Guy #171 suddenly signaled the party was over by getting up and walking off, leaving me with Ramses the First, Second and Third. The idea of them and me even acknowledging each other’s existence seemed too intrusive, so I left them as Guy #171 had seconds earlier.

I ran into Guy #171 a while later. He had kissed me rather amicably before, so I was expecting to get some lip action going on by moving into his personal space and grabbing his testicles. To my surprise, Guy #171 swiftly shoved my hands back and turned his head away. He seemed repulsed. That was new to me. I’d been rejected plenty of times, but never by someone I’d given oral to moments before. Could it really have been that bad, or were there other factors at play?

As I thought back on things that had transpired in the steam room during our first encounter, I noticed how it had happened in almost complete obscurity. Come to think of it, Guy #171 never seemed to eager to do anything, nor was he having any fun. Those three or four men surrounding him didn’t do much either, except for a little caressing here and there, which in a gay sauna is less than a handshake. In retrospect, Guy #171 wasn’t having sex when I first met him. He was letting some people touch him and wasn’t even that comfortable with it. When I joined in, it quickly became too much and he had to leave.

 
 
Cut to us half an hour later, where we meet up in a place bright enough to actually see each other…and suddenly I’m the dinosaur.I have memories of the Challenger disaster, the Berlin Wall coming down and Nelson Mandela being released from prison. By the looks of him Guy #171 was barely old enough to know the difference between Mel B and Mel C.

 

To me old people are the ones who have vivid memories of the seventies, Woodstock and Hitler. Guy #171 made me realize that as time moves on, so should my definition of ‘old’, that one day there will be a day that definition fits me, that one day I’ll be among the last people to know what the world without the internet was like, something me and all the pharaohs have in common.

It’s not the kind of thought you want occupying your head when you find yourself hunting meat that’s younger than yours. On the plus side, I wasn’t laughing the night I got rejected by Guy #171, so my wrinkles at least were kept under wraps.


Guy #168 – Meet some of my issues…

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

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

The answer is both simple and not so simple.

Let’s start with simple.

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

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

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

Which brings us to not so simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I haven’t seen or heard from him since.