Relationships – Page 3

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 #98 – The tease…

When love doesn’t work out our brains tend to warp reality.

So when things didn’t work out between me and Guy #96, around the time I was feeling devastated and sorry for myself, every remotely cute looking Asian Guy I ran into was a potential love interest. Literally every Guy I laid my eyes on was a potential rebound.

Guy #98 was actually pretty decent, Guy-wise.

We met when some of our friends became mutual friends. We would hang out with the same group of people and run into each other frequently. One time he even came by my house to get high with me.

It was to be the night Guy #98 and I were going to have sex. After all, weed smoothes the seduction process in ways similar to the lube I had on stand-by.

Getting high with Guy #98 was a lot of fun. Apart from being cute looking and Asian, he had a bit of a cynical mind worth exploring.
I soon realized Guy #98 was someone I could have meaningful conversations with. He had a good sense of humor. Not only that, he was Asian, just like Guy #96!

As is common when two gay Guys get high together, we eventually landed on the subject of sex. It was around that time he reached for my balls.

What I really wanted was for Guy #96 to reach for my balls, but I couldn’t deny Guy #98 was objectively better looking and just as Asian. I thought I wanted to become part of Guy #96’s family. I thought he was someone I wanted to grow old and adopt babies with, but maybe my long distance drama with Guy #96 had only been some form of cosmic preparation for my introduction to Guy #98. Maybe Guy #98 was the Guy that could make me feel loved, or at the very least reasonable enough looking to spend a lifetime with. He was touching my balls after all.

Anticipating my long awaited salvation from the burdens of heartbreak, I got immensely turned on by Guy #98’s initiative. The weed might have also helped, plus brains warp reality when you’re in love.

I gladly unzipped my pants for Guy #98, who responded with laughter. That wasn’t really the kind of groove I was hoping for. It’s never a good sign when someone laughs at the sight of your penis.

Still, Guy #98 was kind enough to fiddle around with my only naked part. He laughed, made jokes and didn’t seem to take anything seriously, but I wasn’t worried. After all, how could a hand job end up in anything but sex?

Just as I was getting ready to undo more of my clothing, Guy #98 covered my nakedness with my underwear and zipped up my pants. And then he lit up a cigarette, which I thought was premature at that point.

The Guy I was sure could make me forget about my broken heart turned out to be the Guy who merely added incurable horniness to my list of symptoms. In terms of friendship we had been and still are on the same page. In terms of sex and love, Guy #98 never intended to read more than the back cover of the book I had in mind.

Guy #98 never planned to have sex with me. He simply wanted to know if he had the option. Me, sad, desperate and all too available, obliged him in seconds.

It’s doubtful Guy #98 would have enjoyed the burden of my heartbreak, nor was it likely he could have offered me any relief.

We did become friends though. He would later tell me that grabbing Guys by the balls, turning them on and subsequently leaving them hanging in a seemingly perpetual state of unfulfilled arousal was kind of his modus operandi.

Like I said: Guy #98 had a good sense of humor.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = When someone laughs at your penis <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2

Guy #? – A letter to a Guy I haven’t had sex with. Yet.

Guy #? and I met each other last December. We eyed, smiled and even talked to each other, flirted a little and took our relationship to the next level by becoming Facebook friends. Him being a French Guy living in Germany and me a Dutch one living in the Caribbean, we haven’t seen each other since. We have kept in touch though, sending each other metaphorical reminders of how nice it would be to maybe possibly have sex someday. I’ve also been quite loyal in liking his pics, especially those of his abs.

About a week ago Guy #? surprised me with a rather lengthy email. In it, he said he often feels lonely and that relationships, despite his best efforts, never work out for him. He spoke of an Italian Guy he had met on a getaway in Venice. They spent a few holidays together and established some form of long distance exclusive relationship. Then came the day Guy #?’s newfound boyfriend started acting more like a friend and less like a boyfriend: distant and ‘uncuddly’.
After addressing the matter his boyfriend confirmed the two of them were only dating, exclusively for sure, but not something one would call ‘having a boyfriend’. There was a lot of liking coming from Venice, but little loving. His boyfriend expressed doubts about his feelings, the distance had became a factor and perhaps more importantly, it seemed ‘typical’ of all the relationships Guy #? gets into.

Guy #? also lamented the many Guys focusing mostly on his looks, neglecting the intimacy he aches for, worsening his thirst for attention and love.

Feeling empathetic and slightly aroused, I sat down to write Guy #? a decent reply. That somehow ended up being the following letter. With his permission, here it is:

Dear Guy #?,

“L’amour est un oiseau rebelle
Que nul ne peut apprivoiser,
Et c’est bien en vain qu’on l’appelle,
S’il lui convient de refuser.”

Bizet or something

First of all, you can’t find love. It finds you. The only thing you need to do is believe it will. Given the history between you and the Germans I can see why it’s not working out. They did try to invade your home after all. Twice.

Okay, I’m kidding, but the point is you don’t feel at home where you live. If love is what’s missing and you believe Germany and love don’t go together – and no one would blame you – you need to ask yourself: Are Germans bad for you or are your own issues standing in between you and love?

I know, it’s hard to tell with Germans.

I get why many of them would be interested in your physicality. It means you are hot. As with everybody strengths and weaknesses are often one and the same trait. It is precisely your hotness that gets Guys to objectify you. The only thing you can do is what I try to tell every hot Guy I meet and that is to simply accept and embrace their own hotness. The hotter the Guy, the harder they shrug it off for some reason. Some people face the obstacle of being unattractive. You on the other hand are often judged on account of your good looks. If I were you, I would count your blessings. (All six packs of them for starters.)

Sure, people can be shallow, but the more you open up to them, the less shallow they become (or the faster they run away from you, it all depends). Compromise is an important part of any relationship, except for compromising on who you are. My guess is your frustration stems from your ability to please others when you should be pleasing yourself. I generally find that Guys are less into me the more I compromise. And the more I like a Guy, the more I compromise, the end result being an unrewarding fling that leaves me feeling lonely. I guess you know what that’s like.

You strike me as the romantic type. The gay scene can be harsh to romantics. Gays can be bitches after all, especially to hot romantic softies such as yourself. That was a compliment by the way.
In that respect I’m certainly sorry to hear it’s not working out between you and that Guy from Italy, or as I like to call him: the competition. (Let’s face it, I dig you.) I feel bad for you, but it would seem your latest relationship took place on vacation. Could it be you mostly meet Guys when you’re in flee-mode?

Could it be you’re a hopeless romantic constantly on the run from Germany?
Relationships don’t work when you’re on the run.

Like I said, you can’t find love. It finds you. If long distance is the default format of your relationships, something is wrong: Long distance relationships have this tendency to be doomed from the start.

The question is whether you don’t feel at home because love can’t find you in Germany or if love can’t find you there because you can’t make it your home. You say you’re okay with a long distance relationship, but I’m not so sure you are. Something tells me you’d settle for distance because it shields you from defining the meaning of ‘home’.

Home is where the heart is.

Personally, I’ve had quite a journey finding my home over the past ten years, having lived in Suriname, Canada and now Curaçao. In fact, I’ll be moving back to the Netherlands soon, Curaçao’s depressing lack of doable men being a major factor in my decision. I hope I will find my home, though truth be told it depends on me more than my environment. The same goes for you.
I actually have no idea what kind of work it is you do and if it would be easy for you to leave Germany. However, I’d say the odds of love finding you are spread equally over Germany, Italy or any other place where gays have parades. The trick is to embrace your own beauty, which is basically the point of those parades. I think you’re focused more on acknowledging and admiring another person’s beauty than your own. That’s very sweet but equally silly.

I’m not saying relationships only work out when you live within Grindr range of each other. I’m saying you, like everybody else, need to live your own life and believe there will come a day someone will fit in, instead of trying to accommodate your life to that of someone else.

The sadness you feel now is very real, but it’s rooted in what you deny yourself.

Wherever you end up, make it your home. I know this doesn’t happen overnight, but it helps to stop fleeing, to focus on having fun in the place you live, ‘fun’ meaning whatever you want it to mean. And who knows, maybe Germany isn’t the right place for you. I’d sure hate to make love in German. I’ve heard African clicking languages that sound sexier than German. But that’s just me.

Focus on loving yourself and love will find its way to you, is what I’m saying.

By the way, I am aware of my wiseassery. For the record, I suck at finding love just as much as the next Guy, but I am presently enjoying the rides. Well, most of them.

Hope this helps. Let me know if you want to talk more.

Umarmungen und Küsse (see how godawful that sounds?),

Lennard

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 months and counting
FORMAT: Anticipatory Facebook friendship
SEX SCORE: ?

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 #96 – A long distance relationship that was absolutely fabulous until it absolutely wasn’t…

Guy #96 lived in Europe. I lived in South America. We had met on the internet. The two of us had a fantastic relationship together. It lasted 1 ½ years.

The first time we saw each other in real life was after 1 ½ years.

We would send lengthy emails back and forth, call each other and talk on Skype for hours, often a few times a week. And of course we also used our webcam for other stuff that could last hours.

At first I was reluctant to open myself up to Guy #96, there being an ocean between us and all. However it quickly became apparent Guy #96 was completely into me, falling for me even. That widened my comfort zone and allowed me to fall for him as well.

Of course it sucked we could never get to the physical part of our relationship, but we both agreed things were fun as they were with a webcam and that neither of us should do anything rash like buying a plane ticket.

I think I realized I was in love around the time I started chatting with him during work meetings. It was great. It seemed like our relationship could only go up. After all, we still had to look forward to meeting each other someday.

We did go up for a long time, until we peaked. We peaked before we ever met each other. There’s only so many things a webcam has to offer.
The thing with falling in love is that we often fall in love with an idea. Fueled by the absence of any physical intimacy, Guy #96 embodied the idea of having an actual loving relationship with someone, someone to maybe grow old with, someone who could be family. The longer our long distance relationship lasted, the more that idea wired itself into my brain. My hormones took care of the rest.

After about a year Guy #96 started acting distant. By that time I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t telling me everything that was on his mind. Slowly I came to learn he had a bit of an avoidant personality.

Instead of hearing about his feelings, pictures of Guy #96 with another Guy started popping up like mushroom clouds on his Facebook wall. Pictures of them cooking together, them sitting in a grassy field together, them celebrating Halloween together. All things people can do together as friends. I clung to the hope Guy #96 had found himself a very good platonic non-sexual unerotic friend which he somehow never talked about.
I started getting officially worried when Guy #96’s mother started liking their friend’s comments: A family was being formed, and I wasn’t part of it.

When I visited the Facebook profile of Guy #96’s friend I couldn’t believe my eyes: This Guy was most definitely less attractive than I was. Being a narcissist I accepted good looking competition as a part of life, but average looking competition was a bigger paradox than a Jew at a Nazi rally.

In a desperate attempt to sell myself on my looks I started taking selfies. A lot of them. I would spend hours setting the lighting and contrast buttons just right. And then I would post them on Facebook. I knew the whole world was witness to my vanity, but I was okay with it as long as Guy #96 got to see me and my pretty blue filtered eyes. Every time he liked one of my Facebook photos was a good day for me.

Then came the moment he finally opened up about seeing another Guy. By this time we didn’t chat as often as we used to. Every night he wasn’t online was a bad day for me, because I knew it could mean he was doing stuff offline with his boyfriend, stuff that wasn’t restricted to a webcam. Those were nights I used my webcam to make selfies.

Love can be a bit of a black hole. It sucks you in and before you know it your whole life revolves around one person. I resented Facebook for facilitating my obsession, but I couldn’t help myself: If I couldn’t be part of Guy #96’s life, at the very least I had to be a sad outside observer.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I took a month off from work, bought a plane ticket and went to see Guy #96. After 1 ½ years of Skyping our asses off we would finally meet, for real.
Although Guy#96 was now steadily dating his boyfriend, he would often tell me he had doubts about his relationship. I believed him. After all, wasn’t I the better looking option?

People always look different in real life, even if you’ve seen each other a thousand times on a webcam. He made a remark about my lower teeth not lining out as nicely as my upper ones and I mentioned his head was bigger than it looked on screen. Other than that, the two of us got along like we had on Skype.

Guy #96 took me to his place on our first date. Standing mere feet away from his bed I initiated our first kiss. It wasn’t at all like the kiss I had imagined. Instead of feeling relief I could only think about Guy #96’s boyfriend and the fact he had kissed him a lot more than I ever had.
To his credit Guy #96 didn’t cheat on his boyfriend as much as I wanted him to. While we used his bed to dry hump the living daylights out of each other, any hand that attempted to remove clothes, clothes that had come off so easily on our respective webcams, was pushed back the way it came.

For 1 ½ years I had waited to be with Guy #96. Given how much he had wanted me on Skype I figured our hormones would be enough to make him forget about his relationship with a Guy whose Facebook pictures were not nearly as photoshopped as mine.

Reality can be your biggest enemy when you’re in love. What seemed sound, reasonable and even logical in my mind was constantly challenged by it. I did my best to be the smartest, cutest, funniest and all round bestcatchiest me I could be. I knew Guy #96 was into me. He even told me he didn’t know whether to choose me or his other half.

I couldn’t fathom the idea I was fighting a losing battle. After all, wasn’t I obviously the bestcatchiest one on my Facebook page? I had over 100 meticulously crafted selfies to prove it!

Guy #96 even told me he “kind of wanted to get out of his relationship”. It was around that time I started seeing the pattern:

Whenever I came close he would push me away. Whenever I threatened to leave him and his webcam he would seduce me back in. Guy #96 didn’t want me. He wanted the option of having me. His relationship with his boyfriend played out in front of their friends and families. Ours was a dirty secret. It’s not that Guy #96 didn’t like me and my selfies. He just couldn’t bring himself to inform the rest of the world of it. I believe he feared shame more than hurt.

The month I took off from work was intended to be a catharsis. Instead I flew back to South America feeling drained, sad, frustrated and more in love than ever.

Our ‘relationship’ continued as it had, through the safety of a webcam, but the only thing that grew at this point was the hurt.

So I made a bit of rash decision. I moved back to my home country to resolve our issues once and for all. I actually dropped my well paying job, my life and my more than decent sex life and moved 4000 miles to be with someone who liked me better on a laptop.

Of course relationships only work out when you love yourself, when you’re able to live your own life and when your wellbeing isn’t completely dependent on someone else’s Facebook updates. It’s just ridiculously easy to confuse dependency with love when you’re in love, even more so when you’re a narcissist.

Our relationship had consisted of what would have amounted to thousands of pages of chats, emails and texts, countless hours of webcam sessions but less than a handful of unrewarding dates that failed to live up to even the least of my expectations.
The reason I moved back was because I wanted Guy #96 to make a choice. The distance between us had always been the go to-argument for staying with his boyfriend. Now I had gotten rid of that distance, hoping to even the playing field that way.
The two of us saw each other only once after I moved back. We strolled through the city, smoked a cigarette here and there and talked about him having to make a choice. He still couldn’t.

It was painful, but I realized the only way Guy #96 would ever break up with his boyfriend was if his boyfriend did it for him. Guy #96 never made it clear what he wanted. What he wanted was someone else to want it on his behalf.

On our last night together Guy #96 told me he had never told his boyfriend about me. It became clear I would never escape the clutches of my webcam. So after surrendering my entire life to the non-existing wishes of Guy #96 I finally made a sensible decision. I broke up with him.

The two of us said goodbye on the same train station we had first met each other. I told him we would not keep in touch online. It was definitely awful saying goodbye to someone I so much wanted to be with but would never see or hear from again. I hugged him pretty fiercely when my train was about to leave. Knowing me I probably cried as well. I really wanted our final goodbye to be as worthy and beautiful as I imagined the two of us could have been. Sadly, our Kodak moment got interrupted by Guy #96’s cell phone: His boyfriend called. The last I saw of Guy #96 was him walking away from me, answering his phone. It was one final blow, telling me I wasn’t allowed to be part of Guy #96’s life.

I went off Facebook for about half a year. One might consider that my rehab.

It was exhausting telling people how happy I was living back in my home country. Few things suck the life out of you like smiling when all you really want is to cry your guts out. For a long time the mere thought of Guy #96 would turn my stomach around, make me angry, sad and of course ashamed of all my desperate selfies.

The thing with love is that the more you realize why something didn’t work out, the happier you are it didn’t. As time passes you realize reality can be a bitch, but it’s never the enemy.

About a year after our not so perfect goodbye I looked up Guy #96 on Facebook once more. It was a test to see if it would still get to me. Fortunately, I found myself feeling happy for Guy #96 when I learned he and his boyfriend were moving in together.
The very next day my laptop crashed. Every picture of Guy #96, every conversation…all of it got deleted from existence. All the proof of our relationship has since been reduced to the memory of a dry hump that ended in tears.

A few days ago I checked out Guy #96’s wall again. It would seem he and his boyfriend have their five year anniversary coming up. Reality knows Guy #96 and me never would have lasted that long.

I guess not making a choice was the right one for him.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 ½ years
FORMAT: Long distance
SEX SCORE WITH WEBCAM (0 = Abstinence pledges <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5
SEX SCORE WITHOUT WEBCAM (0 = The concept of Facebook likes <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #95 – The sad one’s boyfriend…

Open relationships are quite common among gays. The reason is simple: Sex is nice, but the hunt is nicer.

Guy #95 possessed an insatiable libido. Added to that, he was cute, charming and even somewhat smart.

In short, our date was pretty awesome. Even though it was just about sex it didn’t feel shallow. In many ways Guy #95 was the complete opposite of his boyfriend, the rather depressing Guy #94.

Guy #94, who had moodkilled his way through my sheets a few days prior, was depressed because he had to settle for someone that enjoyed hunting other Guys. Guy #94 was in it for the intimacy, which he failed to find in me. Guy #95 was in it for the hunt.

Here’s the thing with hunters like Guy #95: They enjoy the hunt more than their prey. They’re like fishermen who throw their catch back in the water after reeling it in. Humane, sure, but fairly pointless.

I enjoy the hunt and the intimacy. Maybe I never met the right people, but most Guys seem to enjoy either. The end result for me can be unrewarding, perhaps even lonely sometimes.

Whenever I strike good sex with someone I expect the other person to want more of it, just like I do. It therefore came as a surprise when Guy #95 stopped showing any enthusiasm after our first and only date. Our gay community was a small one, so we ran into each other regularly. He was always happy to see me and to exchange pleasantries. However, any attempts at getting him back in my bed were disappointing like an M. Night Shyamalan movie, each effort being worse than the previous one, despite an excellent first try.

When the two of us had sex we were both rather ecstatic about it, but for different reasons: Guy #95 celebrated his catch, I celebrated a connection. We had been allies instead of lovers.

Somehow Guy #95 left me with a taste of his boyfriend’s sadness, on par with that time I saw After Earth.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 year
FORMAT: One-time hook-up followed by mandatory exchange of pleasantries
SEX SCORE (0 = An M. Night Shyamalan movie marathon <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.4

Guy #94 – The sad one…

There was a time when Facebook was my main source of dates.

The country I lived in was a small, almost anonymous strip of land hidden inside South America. The gay scene was small, being gay often considered smaller. It had no Grindr, no Craigslist, for there was no anonymity to speak of.

Except for Facebook, where you can date in plain sight.

For reasons still not entirely known, the human race went through a phase where it was considered completely normal to invite total strangers to be your friend. It doesn’t get much sadder than that.

Still, I wasn’t complaining. Every few days I would get a friend request from a Guy who I had never seen or heard of. It always meant that friend was into me. All of them were closet cases. Living life inside a closet is depressing. Sometimes this depression echoes into sex, as was the case with Guy #94.

Guy #94 was a bit like the donkey Eeyore, Winnie the Pooh’s friend.

He had this radiating glow of melancholy resting on his shoulders. That surprised me at first, because closetwise he could have done worse. He even had a boyfriend (who would hit me up on Facebook a few days later and would go on to become Guy #95).

Maybe it wasn’t the closet that had sucked the life out of Guy #94. Perhaps he was simply depressed.
Either way, it wasn’t long before Pooh started having enough of this moodkill. I guess it’s unreasonable to ask depressed people to leave their mood outside when they step into my car on a first and most likely only date, but still, at least during sex act as if you’re enjoying yourself! You don’t even have to smile. Just moan a little.

Guy #94 did nothing but radiate sadness throughout our date. He complimented my looks and even the stuff I did to his body, but with the same reluctance the Catholic Church credited Galileo. I wasn’t exactly feeling the love. In fact, all I felt was Guy #94 feeling sorry for himself.

I wondered why this Guy had taken the effort to befriend me on Facebook. It became clear a few days later, when his boyfriend did the same.

Guy #94 wasn’t the slutty type. His boyfriend was. Guy #94 wasn’t a date. He was a scout, sent by his boyfriend to explore me. The only reason Guy #94 went on a date with me was to prep me for his better half. His sadness probably stemmed from the fact he didn’t want an open relationship. He settled for one, knowing closet cases in banana republics were lucky to find any relationship at all.

My guess is Guy #94 didn’t resent me. He resented his boyfriend for making him do me, for bearing the brunt of his boyfriend’s shyness. Guy #94 probably didn’t like the fact his boyfriend would also end up in my bed a few days later.

God knows what Guy #94 and #95 were thinking when they started an open relationship inside a closet.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sad sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Vinegar on fries <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3.5

Guy #91 – Abs and brains.

People reading this blog probably would’t think of me as the relationship type. The format of my relationships is overtly sexual most of the time.

While I’m open to the possibility of a commitment, the thing I’m actively looking for is a connection in any way, shape or form or position.

I met Guy #168 last weekend, finally rendering the name of this blog valid. He was one of the best connections I ever had, like the best parts of this blog combined into one person. In short, he had abs and brains.

Like Guy #91.

Guy #91 was a pleasant surprise. He had made quite the effort to meet up with me. I believe I ignored him the first couple of times he hit me up online. His profile picture just didn’t quite do it for me. But there are of course days when boredom inspires an open mind. It was on one such day I gave this Guy a shot at becoming my Guy #91.

When he stepped into my car I was greeted by one of the cutest and most seductive smiles I had ever seen. Profile pictures always set you up for disappointment, except this time. Guy #91 was simply one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen in any car.

As we drove to my place I could tell he liked the music I was playing. No Guy ever gets my taste in music.

Guy #91 was smart, funny and easy to talk to. We had no trouble getting on each other’s wavelengths and enjoying the view from there.

So where’s the conflict in this story?

Guy #91 quickly fell into my is this too good to be true?-category. That was the one thought I couldn’t get out of my head. Hitting abs and brains is like winning the lottery for me. Hitting abs and brains and my taste in music is like being struck by lightning twice in one day.

We spent a few hours together, during which we talked, laughed, got high and had sex. And while it was one of my best days as a human being ever, I couldn’t help but question my luck. The sheer beauty of what was lying in my bed was all but completely apparent, but I couldn’t submit to it.

Somehow I still had trouble accepting pleasure. Instead of wondering if this Guy was worthy of me, which is what I usually did during sex, I wondered if I was worthy of him.

When I have sex with people I consider less attractive I can pretend I don’t have issues with worthiness. Abs and brains render me more naked somehow.

Although Guy #91 stayed in touch over Facebook for a few years, we never saw each other again. The first time I had rejected him out of a sense of superiority. Now I was rejecting him out of shyness.

It’s not easy being a narcissist.

Guy #91 made repeated efforts to get back into my bed, but I kept him and his drop dead gorgeous smile at a distance, where my self esteem didn’t have to look at it.

Guy #91 and I eventually lost touch (though I’ve taken up the habit of liking his Instagram photos lately). We now live an ocean apart and I don’t have a car anymore, so chances of us meeting up anytime soon are slim.

Still, being with Guy #168 last weekend made me realize something:

Sometime after Guy #91 I started accepting pleasure.

Life is more fun when you’re not afraid of beauty.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years
FORMAT: One time sexual date followed by Facebook friendship, followed by mutual Instagram validation
SEX SCORE (0 = US elections <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.5

Guy #87 – Trying to be me…

Sometimes I miss Guy #87.

Sexually speaking, he was the cream of the crop. He looked awesome, felt better and our performance was stellar.

When I think of Guy #87, I wonder about what could have been, what I did wrong and what he never told me.

On paper and in practice, Guy #87 was one of my wettest dreams: He was funny, sensitive, sweet, daring, considerate, manly yet boyish, a math graduate and a dancer. His torso overshadowed my own imperfections, sharing time with someone who could actually think was liberating and sizewise he wasn’t nearly as Asian as the rest of him.

The best part was that he wanted me, that he actively pursued me even. Few things boost your confidence like being chased by someone hotter than you.

Even though our relationship was mostly sexual in nature, the two of us had dates that lasted entire days. It never felt shallow.
At times I wondered if Guy #87 could be more than just the perfect Guy for in my bed. Neither one of us ever came close to using words like ‘commitment’, ‘relationship’ or ‘going off Grindr’, but given the enthusiasm with which Guy #87 kept seeing me, I sometimes played with the idea of opening up to him, to try and be me as it were.

We lived an ocean apart for most of the time we knew each other. This made dating difficult. Guy #87 would hit me up online sometimes, only to be disappointed to hear I was out of reach.
It was about two years after our last date that we were in each other’s proximity again. I contacted Guy #87 to let him know I was in his country and asked if he wanted to meet up.
“Hell yeah!” was his answer.

It would be the last time I ever saw his enthusiasm.

When we did meet up on what would become our last date, his behavior had changed. He allowed for a courteous Hi how are you I’m fine-conversation, but nothing beyond that. We had sex, which at best could be described as a distant echo of previous poundings.
After the sex we lay together for a while. It was cozy, but hardly as intimate as we had been before. I tried to initiate a second round, but it ended with Guy #87 saying: “You know, I’m not really that much of a bottom.”

Two years earlier he had done the exact opposite of saying that.

I’m not sure if it’s typical of the gay scene or if it’s just a human thing: Sometimes you meet someone, you hit it off nicely, you have a great time, the sex is great, you tell each other how great everything is and then, without warning, the other person stops making things great for some great unknown reason.

Guy #87 never hurt me, but the way we left things has always puzzled me. Did I do something wrong? Was I too eager? Or perhaps too distant? Should I have said how much I liked his brain? Or did he have issues he didn’t feel like sharing? And if that’s the case, I wonder if it’s something trivial or big, and why the change happened so suddenly.

Sometimes life throws you people who leave you with questions. I’m sure there are Guys who still have questions about me: the Guy who snored, the Guy with braces, the Guy who wasn’t perfect enough, to name but a few.

I suppose Guy #87’s sudden change of heart was karma for all the times I ghosted people who thought I was into them. Maybe Guy #87 was never really into me. Maybe he just sucked at rejecting people, like I do.

Or maybe the CIA did something to that lovely brain of his.

Yeah, it’s probably the CIA.

(I use ‘blaming the CIA for my failed relationships’ as a coping mechanism. When you think about it, it’s really sad how often the CIA has pulled the plug on my love life.)

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 years
FORMAT: 4 dates spread over a long time
SEX SCORE (0 = Being Pacman <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.8

Guy #86 – A slut in sheep’s clothing…

There are numerous reasons why I started a blog about all the Guys I ever had sex with. One of those reasons might be that the one, whether I’ve already met him or not, gets a chance to read about my path leading up to him.

Of all the 168 Guys I ever had sex with, the vast majority only guest starred in my life.

You see, there are two types of gay Guys:

There’s the relationship homosexual, someone who might sleep with no more than ten people in his lifetime, someone to whom inner peace and sexual activity aren’t correlated. Someone like Guy #86.

Then there’s the gay slut, someone who gets plagued by restlessness when sex is absent for more than a few weeks, someone who lives with the knowledge that life will go downhill once he hits 30, someone to whom killer abs make the difference between life and oblivion.

If I had to choose which type of gay I am, I would have to pick the gay slut. (I don’t resent it, but I’m not exactly proud of it either, nor do I have killer abs.)

What I really want is what everybody wants: Love. I would love to be loved by the Guy of my dreams and feel worthy of him at the same time, a combination sluts like me tend to have trouble with.

So instead of taking the time to get to know people and explore their personalities, I have sex with them. It’s what I do. If I meet someone who I think could be the Guy of my dreams, my first instinct is to get him horizontal somehow, to cover the basics if you will.

This is arguably sad. I think every gay slut knows what a sad stereotype he is. It’s the reason why they so often meet up in dark places, to hide the sadness.

Of course, from time to time you can’t help but meet someone who might be, as they say it, relationship material.

Guy #86 was such a someone. He was smart, educated, sort of funny, cute and Latino. He was of the ‘relationship type’, meaning he considered our date an acquaintance, a casual introduction to find out if our personalities matched.

I on the other hand was a slut, too afraid our personalities might not match, afraid Guy #86 might reject me over something I had no control over, like what kind of person I am.

One of the first things Guy #86 told me was that he never had sex with Guys on a first date, saying he found it shallow and unrewarding. I responded as any slut would: I told him I wasn’t in it for the sex either, that I much rather wanted to connect with someone.

I went along with Guy #86, complaining about the shallowness of the gay scene, about how so many Guys want nothing but sex and how it’s impossible to establish a meaningful connection with anyone, how gay saunas are dirty places where hope goes to die, how poppers are so very bad for our brains, how sex is only pleasurable when there’s love involved, yada yada yada…

I nodded, I smiled and I agreed with #86’s cute Latino face. I empathized, made him feel comfortable, understood and at home. I pretended to be touched by his words and struck by the connection I felt with him. I asked him to show me his favorite music on Youtube and then gasped for air. That’s how much his Mexican folk music had touched my soul.

I’m a slut. Seducing Latinos is my specialty.

It took me a few hours to strip Guy #86 of his defenses. And then I kissed him. Carefully, almost apologetically at first, as if I too wasn’t the type to initiate sex on a first date.

And then we had awesome, passionate, mind blowing and even loving sex, on his floor, against his wall, in his kitchen and even on his bed.

Once again I had proven myself doable. For a brief moment I felt myself worthy of the very love I was depriving myself of. I, the great Lennard van Ree, had managed to cover all bases on a first date with a very cute Latino relationship type, or as they say in slut terminology: Score.

Guy #86 didn’t quite share my enthusiasm. He loathed himself after we were done, having turned into a sad puddle of regret mere seconds after coming.
He knew he had been tricked into having sex, but he couldn’t exactly put the blame on me. He had enjoyed himself every bit as much as I had, particularly the part that involved the two of us against his wall.

Because the sex had been so good I was ready to get to know Guy #86. For the first time during our date I showed a sincere interest in him. I even wanted to hear more of his music.

Guy #86 however was too busy mourning his shattered principles. I tried to establish the connection we had felt during sex, to no avail.
It saddened me to see Guy #86 be so hard on himself. Had it been up to me, we would have spent the night together, talking, making love and listening to Mexican folk songs. I really wanted us to get to know each other. Assured in the knowledge he deemed me doable I was no longer afraid to open up.

Sadly, Guy #86 was now more interested in picking up the pieces of his former self than in knowing me or my silly taste in music. He made it clear our date was over. I wanted to kiss him when we said goodbye, but he barely allowed me to hug him.

I tried to score a second date, but only half heartedly. I knew any attempts from my end would be futile. I had consumed Guy #86 too soon. We sent a few text messages back and forth. It took Guy #86 a few days to rid himself of his guilt. But he knew very well sex would only be in the way of our relationship, because I would want it again on a second date.

It’s probably why that second date never materialized.

If my the one is reading this, please note: I will try to consume you on our first encounter. You need to decide if you’re okay with that.
If not, that’s okay.

Just don’t believe me when I say your taste in music touches my soul.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 hours
FORMAT: 4 hour foreplay followed by 45 minutes of sex followed by 15 minutes of awkwardness
SEX SCORE (0 = Actually being someone’s sledgehammer <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.3

Guy #83 – By the way, I’m a Nazi.

People go on dating sites because it gives them hope.
Each time you receive a message from a stranger there’s that quiet sparkle of anticipation that this time, yes maybe this time, you have been contacted by a gorgeous, funny and smart underwear model who has seen the inner beauty radiate from your mirror selfies.

Of course most messages we receive on dating sites are a bit of a letdown. Our search for the one often starts off with a healthy chunk of compromise.

Guy #83 was clearly no underwear model. Nothing from his profile indicated that he had any sense of humor. And his message simply read Hi how are you (I get turned off by Guys who don’t have the decency to end such a simple sentence with a question mark.)

On the other hand, Guy #83 turned out to be a doctor. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be on good terms with a doctor, plus I assumed his degree was indicative of some brain power on his end.

Compromise is a powerful trait, one humanity should pride itself for.
It also led to Hitler ass raping Czechoslovakia overnight.

At some point compromise goes from being a virtue to being the pussy’s weapon of choice.

I’m not sure at what point I became a pussy with Guy #83, but I do know I felt invaded like an Eastern European country after I spent the night with him.

Unlike Hitler, there was nothing very wrong with Guy #83. He was just intolerably boring. I very much enjoyed his awesome 24^th floor penthouse, his cooking skills and his designer pillows, but I couldn’t help but feel empty in his presence.

Guy #83 wasn’t unattractive, the food had been great and I was too lazy to go out in the cold, so I had sex with him and slept on his designer pillows.
I did not sleep well.
Guy #83 snored. Call me shallow, but people that snore ought to sleep in isolation. Or be put down.

Few things are quite as agonizing as trying to catch sleep lying next to a snoring hump of human.
I kicked Guy #83, I pushed him around, I went to the bathroom to flush his toilet as loudly as I could. Nothing helped.

People generally think of me as a nice person. In reality there’s a sadistic Nazi living in my brain. It wakes up when others deny me the pleasure of sleep.
Lying next to Guy #83 I pictured him being arrested by German men in uniforms and taken away to a camp for people that snore.
Yes, I know how that sounds, but when your entire existence is someone else’s snoring you can’t help but think the world would be a better place without it. After a few hours of someone else’s perpetual noise making you don’t think about rejecting someone. Rather, you want to cleanse them.

I felt nothing but resentment when Guy #83 curled up against me next morning. Tired from coughing up ways to kill him and get rid of the body, I wanted to sleep, not cuddle.

After my date with Guy #83 I did what any hero of the revolution would do: I ghosted him.
I did not respond to text messages, email messages and Facebook messages. I just didn’t need a doctor that badly.

A few years later Guy #83 suddenly popped up on Grindr, saying Hi how are you. I ignored him initially, but he persisted, asking if there was anything he had done. I finally replied by saying I didn’t feel any connection between the two of us.
Ok he said.

And so ended my relationship with Guy #83.

Thank god.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: A few months
FORMAT: Months of predictable online chats, followed by one night that seemed to last longer
SEX SCORE (0 = A presidential candidates’ orgy <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

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 #56 – Horny Loner, Sneaky Cheater.

Hotels are great for cheating. One might even say that infidelity supports the Hilton the way zombies define The Walking Dead.

Guy #56 was funny, cute, smart, Asian and not single.

I was single and had a hotel room at my disposal.

As predicted by Newton, sneaky cheaters and horny loners are attracted to each other.
Craigslist did the rest.

Guy #56 had made it very clear things needed to be discrete. I had made it very clear I was fluent in getting Guys past the lobby.

It was obvious Guy #56 was nervous about making it to my room unnoticed. Unlike me he was a local. People knew him, and his husband. His husband’s entire family knew him. He was part of the community. And it was the holiday season. Christmas is the worst time to be caught cheating.

Of course being a horny loner I didn’t care much for any of that. I just wanted Guy #56 up in my hotel room because he was funny, cute, smart and Asian.

Once we were confined to the safety of my hotel room Guy #56 and I clicked like peanut butter and chocolate. It was unexpectedly good, but it felt like doing something bad. His husband would be devastated to learn his better half was going to third base underneath someone else’s mistletoe.

At the same time I felt I was doing Guy #56 a favor. Something was obviously lacking in his marriage. I got the impression he loved his husband, except in the company of his husband’s family. Guy #56 probably only cheated during the holiday season.

We had a more than jolly good time in my hotel room two times. Our last date was on December 24^th. In between sex he described me his Christmas dinner as he would be cooking it the day after.

The two of us could have enjoyed each other’s company the entire night. Sadly, Guy #56 needed to be home in time to defrost a turkey.
“Why don’t you guys just do noodles?” I asked.
“My husband is white,” Guy #56 said.
“Of course he is. I can tell you’re into white guys.”
I really liked how Guy #56 went along with my little racist joke. There’s nothing quite as intimate as exploring each other’s dark sides. Actually, there is: There’s nothing as intimate as exploring each other’s dark sides naked, which is what Guy #56 and I did.

A lot of times when I meet people I get bored by how serious they are about everything. I find sarcasm and dark humor to be notably lacking in many Guys. Guy #56 was my kind of dark. He could have been my husband in a parallel universe. I might very well have been the one going solo under my own mistletoe. Perhaps I will someday.

It wasn’t the first time I had sex with a sneaky cheater, but this time it felt bad for my karma.
Guy #56 struck me as a wonderful person. He left me with the realization that great people can be sneaky cheaters too.

It makes horniness all the lonelier for it.

Relationship summary

LENGTH: 2 x 2 hours
FORMAT: Loving sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Eating a mistletoe <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.5

Guy #48 – Summertime sadness…

Dear Guy #48,

Are you still alive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope you managed to overcome the sadness.

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

Relationship summary:

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

Connection

Guy #36 – Pain relief…

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

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

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

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

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

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

We ended up really connecting with each other.

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

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #26 – Commitment is not a choice…

Gays and monogamy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you let it.

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

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

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

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

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #13 – The tourist…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND THIS SITE
PREVIOUS GUYS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess I owe him.

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

Relationship summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except of course in the case of Guy #10.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I apologize for wreaking havoc on his inside-out.

Relationship summary:

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