Tag: Sex

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.

Do what I did: start with Guy #1!

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.

Guys #186, #187, #188, #189, #190, #191, #192 and #193 – The weekend…

I first met Guy #168 standing next to this whirlpool at this gay sauna during this foam party: hundreds of Guys either in their prime or clinging to it for dear life, gathered in a building built to enable gay sex, it be under hot showers, boiling sauna cabins, misty steam quarters, foamy dance floors, shady dark rooms or just up against any available wall. Lawyers, business owners, the unemployed, nurses, cab drivers, telemarketers, students, policemen and criminals…perfectly normal people who so happen to be gay get naked at foam parties at gay saunas sometimes, to get high on drugs and then on each other.

This particular foam party served as my introduction to the scene which, as it turned out, would be home to my sex life for the years to come. I had experienced my first orgy not long before, but nothing as extravagantly hedonistic as this night would become. Added to that, I had just moved back to the Netherlands, having spent nearly a decade abroad in exotic locations void of a vibrant gay community. Now I was back, home, in a country with a spectacular gay scene, ready to start living the gay life I felt deprived of for so long. I considered it the start of the peak of my sexuality. I had come here to celebrate my prime or at the very least cling to it for dear life.

The night I knew would be spectacular: I was invited to join my friend’s afterparty later on, which meant I had a living room of 20 hot Guys to look forward to. Me, in a room with 20 hot people, having wild, animalistic sex, the kind I had only seen in porn movies. For someone who had spent 24 years in a closet, feeling unattractive, 9 years abroad, feeling deprived, being invited to this exclusive afterparty was nothing short of a volcanic eruption of suppressed mother issues.

Guy #168 was someone preceded by his unspoken reputation. Secluded as our little gay culture can be, within the hamlet we call home some are prettier, sluttier, funnier, smarter or put simply, some are more desirable than others.
Guy #168’s first name was known to everyone I knew, and he owned it like Madonna, Adele or Bono…So when he stood before me all of a sudden, I instantly knew who he was: his gorgeous, well trained body, his carefully chosen bit of sportswear that seemed deceptively casual, his angelic smile that could have passed for innocent were it not for all the Guys exchanging blowjobs in the background. The many first impressions that was Guy #168 quickly took hold in my mind, just as my XTC started kicking in.

Needless to say, I was instantly starstruck the moment I first laid eyes on Guy #168.

The night I met Guy #168 I was poised to meet Guy after Guy after Guy, to live a life of lust, hedonism and freedom.

Falling in love was the last thing I wanted to do. It just so happened to be the first thing I did.

I first got high on drugs, then I got high on Guy #168. It was one of my best evenings as a human being. Guy #168 was one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen or been with. His constantly generous smirk kept on swaying me, giving me a courage I’d never felt in the presence of beauty before. With every word he said he channeled limitless positivity, his rich vocabulary a reminder that yes, sometimes abs and brains do come together in one and the same human being.

Guy #168 and I had sex later that night at our afterparty. We were in a room with about 20 naked Guys, all of them gorgeous, but none more so than Guy #168, who on all accounts was the star of the party, always the center of attention, always modestly accepting his status as orgy queen, always spreading good vibes to anyone high enough to receive them.

Best of all, Guy #168 gave me a lot of attention, allowing me to detach from my issues, leaving but the best version of myself.

By the time morning broke, I had fallen head over heels in love with Guy #168. And it felt fantastic, right up until the day after, when Guy #168 had gone home and the XTC had faded into oblivion.

I loved being with Guy #168 at an orgy, but what I craved was spending time alone with him, getting to know him, feel what he was like without the drugs.
Being intimate with Guy #168 proved so much easier than getting close to him. In fact, my only chance of being with Guy #168 was by going to orgies.

I can’t pretend to know people’s individual reasons for attending orgies, but I assume it has to do with horniness, damage repair from a plethora of youth traumas and a desire to fit in and be wanted. Valid as those reasons are, for a long time I only attended orgies for the sole purpose of hoping to run into Guy #168. Orgies were my only way of seeing him.

And when I attended an orgy only to find out he wasn’t there, the drugs somehow lost their magic pretty quickly.

Which brings us to the story of Guys #186, #187, #188, #189, #190, #191, #192 and #193.

It’s the story of a weekend that took place a few months after I had fallen in love with Guy #168.

There was another foam party at the same sauna we first met, with a similar afterparty to follow. I had sent Guy #168 a carefully constructed breezy WhatsApp message, which led to the following ‘conversation’:

Me: Hey gorgeous, how’s it hangin’? Wanna join us for foam party and afterparty, tomorrow?😜 Let me know, hot stuff!
#168: will think about it
Me: K cool, thinking is what you’re good at haha😘🌈💪

Whether he actually thought about it is very much up for debate. What is certain is that I thought of nothing else but him that weekend, first wondering if he’d come, then slowly realizing he wouldn’t be there, then shifting my attention to filling up the void I felt inside.

I had come to this foam party to chase the high I felt when I met Guy #168. In his absence, all that was left to do was chasing. Chasing because I didn’t know how not to.

I was in love, and high, and simply wanted to rid myself of my issues, and had come to a 400 Guy foam orgy to lighten my load. I hit on Guys I deemed cute, remotely cute, or just Guy. At one point a friend of mine pulled me back from my quest and told me I was trying to hard.

Up until meeting Guy #168 I had always been fairly smooth when it came to picking up Guys. I didn’t know any better or Guys I wanted wanted me back and needed little to no convincing. Now, as I was desperately trying to find someone to make up for Guy #168’s absence, Guys seemed uninterested, ignoring me, not even seeing me, or pushing me away.

It was the summer of 2016, I was 34 four years old, I had reached the peak in my sexuality, and I had lost my mojo.

Guy #186 – The one I wanted to forget

As the night progressed, so did the decimation of my standards, until this not entirely unattractive or old Guy slid his fingers against mine as I passed him in what was probably the brightest spot of our dark room.

I didn’t even stop to take a closer look at this Guy. He was there, he wanted me, he wasn’t twice my weight…it sufficed. So I let him have his way with me. Sex with Guy #186 was nothing short of awful. We ended up doing it on a couch in a well lit area, in full view of Guys of all kinds of cute passing by. Some of them were my friends and I could tell by the looks on their faces they were surprised to see me with someone like Guy #186.

I don’t remember how long the sex between me and Guy #186 lasted. I do remember I told him it was over at some point, excusing myself and leaving him behind with a strangely satisfied glow on his face.

“Why did you do that?” one of my friends asked me after I had removed myself from under Guy #186.
“Well, he sort of had a cute face, didn’t he?” I tried, hoping to add a flinch of redemption to my desperation.
“No. No, he did not,” my friend said.

Guy #186 is someone I would run into on various occasions afterward. Each time we did I pretended not to recognize him. The one time he tried to seduce me again I pushed his hand away as if he was Donald Trump reaching for my pussy, that’s how much I was repulsed by Guy #186, and by the thought of us having had sex. I would feel guilty over treating him that way, but then again, we met at an orgy, our dialogue was akin to two Terminators trying to off each other and he never would’ve gotten anywhere with me had it not been for my highly dysfunctional crush on a Guy I had met months before.

Guy #187 – The one to make me forget Guy #186

There’s always an afterparty.

That’s what I thought as I scoured this foam party. Technically, the foam party was the main event. In practice though, it’s spending the remainder of the day in a living room full of naked people why I would seek out such a foam party in the first place.

Not long after my regrettable hook-up with Guy #186, I made my way to my friend’s house, hoping it to be filled to the brim with Guy beauty, just as it had last time, that night I fell in love at an orgy.

This time however the living room was mostly empty, which meant we’d have to go on Grindr and advertize our little after to the neighborhood.

Instead of being in a living room with the country’s finest, I now had to settle for the country’s nearest.

Guy #187 was near and sort of my type. He was of course not at all like Guy #168, but enough to make me forget about the debacle with Guy #186 hours before. Guy #187 came to my friend’s house, took a little XTC, some GHB, had a little conversation to let the drugs take effect, then had sex with me and no doubt some other people who were also there.

I ran into him at an art exhibition about a year later, where we pretended not to know each other.

Guy #188 – The one who was very much like Guy #187

The story of Guy #188 is pretty much the same. The only difference is he was reeled in by one of my friends, so he had sex with my friend first, and then with me.

I wasn’t into Guy #188 that much, but he was very friendly. Plus he wanted me, something I was longing for more than anything else. Add some poppers to the mix and going down on Guy #188 was pleasant-ish.

Guy #188 was barely 20 years old and already looked like 30 was just around the corner. I didn’t express my advice to stay off drugs, seeing it’s not the most plausible advice to hand out when you’re high. Watching Guy #188 going steady on drugs made me feel relieved I was clinging to my peak in my 30s and not earlier.

I remember the two of us befriending each other on Facebook amidst the scent of poppers. We’re no longer Facebook friends though, meaning he probably unfriended me in a wave of sobriety at some point.

Guy #189 – The one I tried not to be awkward with

By the time I got around to Guy #189 the living room was occupied by about 6 or 8 people either having sex or using their phones to get some. It’s the kind of party where people constantly show each other the selfies they receive on Grindr, so that everybody may gauge the meat before it’s invited over.

And of course there’s the unspoken rivalry of who brings in the best meat. When someone shows you a picture of someone they want to bring in, you’re not just passing judgment on a stranger, you’re also checking if this stranger is someone you spoke to as well, if he deems you attractive too.

Shallow waters can be the perfect ground for epic battles in the gay scene, and it’s not something I’m always in the mood for. Added to that texting can be a daunting task when you’re high on XTC, so instead of trying to bring in fresh meat, I focused on some that was already in the room:

Guy #189 was someone I gave a blowjob to. He was among the 20 Guys I had an orgy with a few months earlier. We had gotten along amicably, but there had never been any sexual chemistry between us. This time we once again shared a living room full of nakedness, and we happened to end up lying next to each other. I couldn’t think of something to say and felt awkward just lying there doing nothing, hence the blowjob.

Turns out giving a blowjob for the sake of not being awkward is still kind of awkward. We’d run into each other on a few orgies to follow, but never got close to having sex again. Or talking for that matter.

Guy #190 – The one who made me forget

Guy #190 was a highlight of my weekend. He came over to my friend’s house early in the morning, the moment I went into Jack Bauer mode: 24 hours without sleep and no end in sight.

Guy #190 had just woken up and his sobriety brought a refreshing energy to our living room, which at the time of his arrival counted about 5 or 6 Guys either having sex or looking for it on Grindr, or having sex while looking for other Guys on Grindr.

As I had a very nice time with Guy #190, I looked around in wonder. I actually saw a Guy being a bottom to another Guy, whilst chatting with yet another Guy on Grindr, and thought to myself how I would never in my life treat sex so casually.

After all, wasn’t sex something sacred, an intimate bond you share on this quest called love? That at least was how I had described my experiences on 168guys.com up until the point I started doing orgies.

It was the kind of sex I experienced with Guy #190. He was funny, smart and even though my high was no match for his sobriety, we managed to establish a connection. He reminded me of why people pursue sex, the first one to do so the entire weekend.

We even met up a few times afterward, our most recent hook-up only a few months ago. We might have even gotten to know each other a little better had we not lived as far apart as we do. Then again, Guy #190 was mostly apt at making me forget about the Guy he wasn’t. I respected him for making me not ache for Guy #168 for a while, but it was a fleeting appreciation at best.

Guy #191 – The one I actually forgot

I remember nothing of Guy #191. All I know is I took note of him in my Excel sheet shortly after the weekend was over. I only wrote down his first name, without any extra information to stir my memory. I started writing 168guys.com under the assumption that all sex is a story worth telling. Yet when I started this site, I had no idea it is common for some Guys to have sex and be on Grindr at the same time.

Guy #154 – The old friend

Sometimes you run into an old friend at an orgy. It was lovely seeing Guy #154 again, and exactly what I needed, as the sex between him and me has always been spectacular.

Guy #192 – The young and the restless

Next up was a Guy who hit me up on Grindr the night before. I had deemed him too unattractive based on his selfie. Overnight he had uploaded a different, better selfie however. I replied to his message, told him I was in a room filled with Guys who’d be into him. He arrived at the scene half an our later.

Gorgeous as he turned out to be, Guy #192 was incredibly restless, a trait no doubt worsened by the GHB in his system. He had sex with pretty much all of the people there, but only very swiftly. His attention was never on the person he was having sex with, but always on his next prey, never on his catch.

As a consequence I couldn’t feign a real interest in Guy #192 for very long. Besides, my drugs were wearing out and I could tell my body should not aim for anything higher than the natural release of endorphins at this point. So I went on Grindr just as Guy #192 was giving me a blowjob, pursuing meat of a different flavor, becoming a Guy who goes on Grindr during sex.

Guy #193 – The one who died

Guy #193 had been at our afterparty since pretty much the beginning. He was in his early forties, which I considered old and not my type, but his maturity and endearing personality swayed me to fool around with him a little throughout the day. It wasn’t great, but it was nice doing him a favor that way.

I might have done more with him than fooling around, but the more drugs he took, the more annoying he became, the more I realized how drugs were an integral part of his orgy personality.

He was found dead in his apartment almost a year later, after he had apparently taken too much GHB, lost consciousness and suffocated, making him the first Guy I ever had sex with who’s no longer alive.

…and so ended a weekend filled with Guys, drugs, sex and no Guy #168.

When I met Guy #168 he introduced me to the world of lust I had ached for and it was exactly as I had always imagined it, a world where my libido could roam freely and feast on Guy after Guy after Guy. But the minute I stepped foot in Guy #168’s world, I found myself longing only for him.

I started 168guys.com under the assumption love and sex are inseparable, that anyone looking for sex is looking for love at the same time. Then I discovered orgies, hoping to be liberated from the burden of feelings, only to project all my feelings onto it and losing myself quite completely at the first try.

My first night with Guy #168 took place in a purple haze of extravagantly beautiful sexuality. A few months later, that magic had evaporated, revealing a much darker side of orgy culture, where the haze had become a gritty gray, where people have sex while they’re on Grindr, dismiss Guys while they’re having sex with them, where friendships only last as long as the drugs do, where drugs bring out weird alter egos who are without exception both the best and worst versions of ourselves, and where people die alone.

It’s a world where I felt at home: orgies are like a played out metaphor of real life, albeit with far more polarizing extremes.

It’s where I had come to chase the high that didn’t chase me back.

Guys #186 through #193 all had one thing in common. They were not Guy #168.

And I had sex with all of them because of Guy #168.

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #182 and #183 – 2 blowjobs, 0 memories…

I started 168guys.com, among other reasons, because I was convinced every Guy I ever had sex with is a story to be told.

After all, sex is special, intimate, animalistic and on and off rewarding. Sex is eventful.

Or at least, it had been eventful every time when I started this blog. That’s why I was able to retrieve every Guy I ever did from memory when I started writing.

These days, whenever I have sex with a Guy I make a note of it. I guess I always knew the more sex you have, the less eventful it becomes, the easier it gets for Guys to leave my brain well before I address them here.

Enter Guys #182 and #183.

I have no idea who they were, what they looked like or how rewarding it was. All I know is that I came back home one morning, opened my Excel sheet and wrote:

Guy #182/#183: Two Guys who gave me a blowjob in a steam room in Amsterdam’s gay sauna.

Then I closed my laptop and didn’t think of them until now, only to be confronted by an apparent hole in my memory.

I think it says a lot about this gay scene I cruise so often. You meet a lot of people who are unremarkable, or you meet the most amazing people in the most unremarkable of circumstances, or you simply can’t be bothered to be remarkable yourself. The word ‘cruising’ is apt if nothing else. It’s something you can do on autopilot, without thinking about it too much. It might even be a little boring sometimes.

Sure, getting a blowjob can easily be the highlight of my day. Getting two blowjobs might even count as a good day, but I’ve been out of the closet for a well over 4000 days now. That’s 4000 days of hunting, being hunted, dates, failed dates, hundreds of Grindr chats that went somewhere, thousands that went nowhere and more than 300 Guys I actually had sex with, two of whom gave me a blowjob this one time.

Mathematically it’s actually rather sound of me to forget a blowjob here and there. I’m a Guy, not Rain Man.


Drugs, orgies, gay saunas, all on and off rewarding experiences that apparently butchered one of the core beliefs that started this blog: that every Guy I ever had sex with is a story to be told.

So out of respect for my waived convictions, here’s the story of Guy #182 and #183:

Judging by the chronology of my Excel sheet, I entered this steam room one night in either July or August or September of 2016, where I assumedly sat down for no other reason than to be found. I was found, first by Guy #182 and then by Guy #183. They may have happened within minutes of each other or hours apart, but timing aside I allowed both to put my penis into their mouth for the explicit purpose of creating what I used to think of as an event. It can’t have lasted longer than a few minutes each and it can’t have been eventful. It could very well have been slightly enjoyable.
Afterward I went home, made a note of it, then forgot it ever happened.

The end.

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 #176 and #177 – What is this whole sex thing anyway?

It is September 11, 2018, I am 36 years old and at this exact point in time I have had sex with about 305 Guys. I say ‘about’ because, among other things, this story will show you sex is not a simple yes or no variable.

When you’ve more or less had sex with some 300 Guys and counting, sex itself loses some of its mojo, especially when love is notably absent most of the time.

In my early days of sexual exploration dating sites (and later apps) were a source of excitement. It felt naughty, to expose myself and my body to the kind of pleasure I would not dare tell my mother about.

300 Guys later, I don’t go on Grindr to hunt for Guys. The only real reason I go online is to see how well my profile picture performs. Every day when I get back home from work, I open Grindr, alerting gays in a one mile radius of my presence. An hour later, I open Grindr again…and then I look at the profiles of people who hit me up as I was busy eating, watching Netflix and getting ready to go to the gym.

And then I ignore those people. I don’t even bother reading their messages. I hardly ever initiate a conversation on Grindr and the people that hit me up are almost always not my type. I simply can’t be bothered.

Because once you’ve been on one Grindr date, you’ve been on all. The details vary, but the formula is pretty straightforward: Sexual frustration + loneliness + social awkwardness = Grindr date.

It’s interesting the first 100 times. After that, you can’t help but get jaded. So after a while Grindr stops being instrumental in getting laid. It becomes an instrument in getting attention. Getting laid is something you can do in a gay sauna or a raunchy nightclub, where you don’t have to go through obligatory conversation to get some action.

At least, that must have been my assumption the night I met Guy #176 and #177.

Guy #176 was the type of Asian I could tell was into white Guys such as myself. He was too shy to actively chase me, but every time our paths crossed I could see his eyes light up. Added to that he was cute, generically cute, so a perfect fit for someone like me, who wasn’t looking for a layered person.

Guy #176 and I started our conversation in front of some lockers in a gay sauna. It was brightly lit, but the twinkle in his eye shone brightly regardless. It was not at all a surprise he reached for my parts. I was happy to let him: having a generically cute Asian Guy fiddle with my testicles was just the thing I was in the mood for. And by the looks of Guy #176’s face, he had found exactly what he was looking for too!

Things don’t get much better in gaytopia.

Except that when I leaned in to kiss Guy #176 he veered back. Our lips had touched, we had played with each other’s genitals: technically, this Guy was now blog material, but just when I thought we’d submit ourselves to some tender foreplay, Guy #176 started laughing uncomfortably, apologetically even.
“I’m sorry, I just had to feel you up for a bit,” Guy #176 said.
“Well, now you have,” I replied, hoping it would be quirky enough to glide our relationship into the actual stuff I wanted to do to this Guy.

It didn’t. Guy #176 said sorry one more time and then went off, ending our relationship as randomly as it had begun.

(I actually ran into Guy #176 at a clinic this one time as we were getting an AIDS test, where of course we pretended not to know each other.)

Up next was Guy #177. My relationship with him started online, where he hit me up saying ‘Hi’. I usually don’t respond to Hi’s, but a quick glance at his profile taught me he had a boyfriend and that the two of them were on the lookout for threesomes. Both looked reasonably cute, so I made a slight effort for a change.

Guy #177 and I chatted for a while, discussed sexual preferences and even pondered setting a date with the three of us, which then never materialized because we lived too far apart for me to be truly bothered. Threesomes top twosomes, but when you’ve done orgies, a threesome is about as exciting as Finding Nemo is to Finding A Fish.

Then came the day I ran into Guy #177 at a gay sauna. We recognized each other from our pics and awkwardly said ‘Hi’. I don’t remember how exactly, but we ended up sitting next to each other in a steam room not long after. He wasn’t as cute as his pics had suggested and he could probably tell my abs didn’t come with a contrast button in real life. Yet at the same time we had spoken about having vivid sexual intercourse. Giving each other a socially awkward handjob seemed weirder than not doing anything at all.

So Guy #177 jerked me off for a short while, while I did the same to him. As I bestowed upon him the pleasure of my left hand, my mind was stuck between upping the sex with oral or using my mouth to start a conversation.

In the end Guy #177 simply got up and left, never to be seen or heard from again. He didn’t even get to experience what my right hand is capable of.

Guys #176 and #177 make me wonder if Karma has taken note of my Grindr etiquette: Grindr me is not exactly a great Guy. I prefer getting attention over actually having sex and I dismiss Guys when they require the slightest pinch of effort. Guys #176 and #177 gave me attention, then dismissed me as I tend to with the Guys I meet.

My relationships with Guys #176 and #177 were a bit like this story. You make a little effort to get invested, hope it will lead somewhere and then it ends before getting off the g…

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 #170 – Oprah on a bad day…

I don’t like fat.

It’s why I prefer walking over public transportation, why I have a gym membership I don’t use as often as I feel I should and why I have to digest guilt each time I eat ice cream.

So when I meet a Guy and find myself confronted with the decision whether or not to have sex with him, the amount of fat this Guy carries is a very determining factor in my decision making process.

Which doesn’t mean fat Guys don’t stand a chance. They simply need to put in a little extra effort.

Fatwise, Guy #170 was like Oprah on a bad day. Like Oprah, he didn’t make an effort to hide his lack of abs. Instead, he initiated a conversation about his body and freely acknowledged it wasn’t the best thing he had going for him. Like Oprah, he too talked about things he was doing to shape up, one of which included a diet that consisted of less than 1000 calories a day.

I don’t like fat, but that doesn’t make me heartless. Although I was well aware Guy #170 was playing on my empathy to find him attractive, I couldn’t deny his tactic was working. The more he spoke about his struggle to lose weight, the more I saw in him the Guy he could be if he stayed in Oprah-mode long enough.

Personally, I’m not very smooth when it comes to hitting on people. I more or less have my looks to offer. Beyond that, I lack the ability the steer a conversation in the direction of sex. I simply have no idea how to talk people into sexual contact. The art of seduction, reading people, playing into their weak spots, figuring out what makes them tick. I lack those skills. For me, hitting on a Guy is simply a matter of going in and hoping for the best, an on and off successful strategy I intend to keep using as long as I don’t have any fat forcing me to make a real effort.

Guy #170 however was smooth to the bone. He knew that if he wanted to have sex with me, he would have to work me. At some point in time he must have figured empathy was to be his weapon of choice. Instead of hiding his fat, he made it the center of his campaign.

In addition to infecting me with his highly contagious Oprah positivity, Guy #170 was also assertive. His intentions of wanting to have sex with me were clear well before he opened up about his diet, as he repeatedly touched me in places fat people usually don’t get to touch me.

Even though I remained hesitant throughout the sex, it was far from unpleasurable. Guy #170 knew what to do and was good at what he did, a combination that made up for most if not all of his fat.

“Thank you,” I said after we were done.

“You’re a dumbass,” Guy #170 laughed as he gently slapped my face. He implanted the idea that maybe I tend to be too much of a kiss ass toward people who give great blowjobs.

Seconds after I extended my gratitude Guy #170 walked off, though we would later meet up again and talk some more.
I still run into him occasionally and when I do it’s always nice to see each other again. Sex however will never again materialize between the two of us. Every time I see him I can’t help but feel I was tricked, even though I liked it enough to say thank you.



Guy #169 – When being yourself is easy…

Being yourself is both the easiest and the hardest thing to do. And usually, we opt for making it hard on ourselves.

I for one am way too much of a people pleaser. It’s rooted in my innate desire to be liked and/or eternal fear of not being loved. The easiest thing would be to just ignore it, be nice to people and live life while you can. Instead I aim to resolve my conflict by being nice to people for all the wrong reasons.

Sexwise, I am usually the one who does most the work. When I’m having sex I go into please mode. Generally speaking, I aim to please more than I please to aim.

I would love to completely let go, because few occasions taught me it’s awesome when I do, but most of the time a big part of me is consciously making sure the other Guy is enjoying it at least as much as I am.

Guy #169 was a notable exception and the reason for it was food poisoning.

I first met Guy #169 a few hours after I had eaten what could have been bad anchovies or undercooked chicken, neither of which bothered me yet when Guy #169 and I started talking. He had a job, I did stuff, he wanted sex, I went into please mode.

Until I started getting dizzy. It instantly rendered me incapable of doing any pleasing. Guy #169 wanted to continue what we were doing, but I intuitively felt I was about to vomit. I told Guy #169 I needed to be by myself and quickly made my way for a toilet, which I was lucky enough to find just in time.

In just ten minutes I had gone from feeling great to hanging over a toilet with a fever and the weirdly familiar taste of chicken and anchovies in my mouth. Hovering over your own vomit in a toilet in a gay sauna alone with a fever sending all your thoughts into overdrive, it’s easy to get philosophical and wonder about where your life is going, and if hanging over the toilet at 3AM in a gay sauna would have made your mother proud.

So when I ran into Guy #169 a while later, I was still feeling queasy and not at all in the mood for sex. Also, I would feel bad for letting Guy #169 kiss me, because I had literally thrown up minutes earlier and had taken but a menthos to remedy it. Guy #169 however wanted me really badly, so I made a decision. Either I would sit out my little flu alone and miserable, or I would treat Guy #169 as my massage therapist and let him do the pleasing.

It struck me that the great thing about feeling sick is how it makes being yourself so much easier. You simply don’t have the energy to engage in appearances.

And so it happened I ended up getting an intensely erotic massage that allowed me to more or less enjoy the flu wave.

The fun ended when Guy #169 wanted more than just be my massage therapist. I told him I wasn’t feeling too well and that there was no way in hell he would get more from me, as much as I more or less didn’t even want it to to begin with. Guy #169 settled for letting me give him my number. We apped a few times.

I considered going on a date with him. I figured it could be good exercise in turning off the please switch. Then again, I knew I would only enjoy being that passive on a diet of bad anchovies or undercooked chicken. I suppose I just wasn’t that much into Guy #169, which I already knew the moment I let him kiss me moments after I had vomited. That’s not what I would do to a Guy I really like.

However, when I’m slightly delirious and shaky from a fever, the gloves come off and I have no qualms using people for my pleasure.

People often tell me I’m a nice Guy. Little do they know I’m nice for all the wrong reasons.

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 #167 – Twice you go black…

As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have much experience with ebony. Call me a racist sexist, but I’ve felt much mutual attraction between me and black Guys. I would like to be sure my white privilege has nothing to do with it, but I had to spend time living in a former Dutch colony for a few years to discover my privilege. God knows what racism I haven’t unearthed yet, but for the most part of my sex life black Guys to me have been like women in the sense that I have considerable trouble getting hard in their company.

Unless of course someone is so unbelievably beautiful and good looking they make you forget about sexuality, preference or privilege, someone like Charlize Theron or Guy #167, the latter of which started touching me at this orgy the night I also met Guy #165, #166 and #168. The night in question was what I would later consider a peak in my sexuality, much like Toxic was a peak in Britney’s recording history.

Speaking of toxicity, Guy #167 and I started feeling each other up on a wave of XTC and GHB, easily the cornerstones of gay sex dating these days. I was standing on a balcony, smoking a cigarette with some other Guys, when Guy #167 sat down next to me and put his hand on my legs.

I instantly remembered the last time I had done sexual stuff with a black Guy, seven years earlier, at a time when I knew nothing of drugs or orgies. At first I figured it was the drugs attracting me to this Guy, but a quick glance at Guy #167 taught me I ought to consider myself lucky to be getting attention from him at all. He was a muscled hunk. I was a skinny sag of insecurity by comparison.

Fortunately there were drugs involved.

To say drugs smooth seduction is like saying air enables breathing. Guy #167 and I communicated through our physicality and quickly established we were into each other, found our own spot in a room filled with over a dozen Guys doing the same and had some good old fashioned gay fun for a while, and again a while later…and perhaps another time after that. I don’t remember exactly.

As we were making out in a bathroom I looked at the reflection of us doing so in a mirror. Part of me had wondered if maybe I was having sex with Guy #167 because the drugs had gotten me high to the point Bea Arthur’s voice would have turned me on. However when I looked at us in the mirror I had trouble fathoming just how incredibly beautiful Guy #167 really was.

But that’s the thing: Even when you realize you’re on drugs you’re still on drugs. Just because you know the world is beautiful because you took a pill doesn’t actually make it beautiful, even when you know it does.

Objectively speaking, Guy #167 was one of the most beautiful people I ever had sex with. I would have liked to meet Guy #167 on a wave of sobriety, but as is so often the case with people you meet at orgies, you only meet them at orgies.

I ran into Guy #167 a number of times since the night we met. We’d fool around a little each time, simply because he has the kind of beauty I’d feel spoiled for resisting. I never met him sober, though. Seeing as he comes with a caring and sensitive personality that neatly contrasts his manly appearance, it would be interesting to see if the caring sensitivity wears off when the drugs do.

Because a lot tends to wear off when the drugs do, something I didn’t know yet the night I had sex with Guy #167. Like that first time I had sex with a black Guy, the only way was still up for me. Seven years earlier I had a one-time thing with a black Guy just to try it out. It was a time of exploration and excitement. Now, seven years later, I was still busy exploring uncharted territory. When you’re on XTC and in a room with 20 good looking Guys who took the same pill you did, you’re basically king of the world in a world full of kings. That, in and of itself, is an experience I wish upon everyone.

Being king of the world in a world full of queens however is a completely different thing. The gay scene consists of grown men acting like teenagers because they were deprived of doing so when they were teenagers. It’s great when you’re high, but it’s unforgivably harsh when you find yourself surrounded by people chasing that high, even more when you start chasing it as well.

I suppose the nicest thing about meeting Guys #165, #166, #167 and #168 was that I didn’t know any of this yet. The night I met Guy #167 I was mostly just excited I got to have sex with one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen.

The night of Guy #167 happened about five months after I started 168guys.com. It seemed fitting I would pass the actual 168-mark on what was easily my wildest night in terms of sexual exploration.

What I didn’t know was that the fun part of exploring was about to come to an end.