Tag: Sex

Guy #166 – The thing with orgies…

“Can I fuck you?” were the first and pretty much only words Guy #166 ever spoke to me. I don’t remember much of our remaining conversation but imagine I must have said something along the lines of Yes, as Guy #166 in fact became the 166th Guy I ever had sex with shortly after the conclusion of our little dialogue.

The sex was about as spectacular as standing in line at a restaurant, waiting to be seated and seeing waiters with good looking food go by.

The room Guy #166 and I found ourselves in was filled with about 20 or so other Guys, most of which were better looking than him. On the other hand, Guy #166 seemed sweet and he’d been coming onto me the entire night. He wanted me badly. I suppose it’s always nice to run into a waiter who wants to feed you properly. Even though Guy #166 was far from my main course that night, I allowed him to be the mozzarella stick to further wet my appetite.

I guess Guy #166 enjoyed me saying Yes to his question more than he did the sex with me. His drug induced horniness came with a drug deduced boner that was hardly a boner at all by the time he managed to put on a condom. He even lost his balance a few times while rubbering up, something I would later learn was due to this drug called ketamine.
Compassionately, I pretended to be into the whole affair. Guy #166 came across as nervous and I didn’t want to leave him feeling incapable, even though I knew that’s exactly what I’d be doing eventually and soon: leaving him. I was at an orgy, celebrating what I would later consider a peak in my sexuality. I wasn’t planning on upgrading an appetizer to a course. In fact, Guy #167 was already starting to feel me up a few minutes into my relationship with Guy #166, and Guy #167 looked like one of the tastiest and exotic entrées I had ever seen.
It didn’t take me long to shift my attention from Guy #166 to #167. I allowed Guy #166 to have his way with me for a few minutes, even though his ‘way’ was mostly paved by the drugs he had taken. He seemed happy I hadn’t rejected him, which made me all the more comfortable to move on and basically reject him.

Guy #166 went his own way as soon as the ketamine allowed him to. To my relief I saw him having fun with plenty of other Guys that night.

Although the two of us would politely greet each other at various occasions over the year that followed, we never exchanged any words, probably because I had already given him everything he wanted by saying Yes. We were just strangers who so happened to have had what can best be described as a vague echo of sex at an occasion where sex was the only real means of communication. I had been his appetizer as much as he had been mine.

That’s the thing with orgies: They’re like all-you-can-eat buffets where you can spit on your food and then watch someone else eat it.

They’re both the best and the worst place to make friends.

Guy #165 – Two Guys, some drugs and a whirlpool…

Imagine for a second a universe that is truly infinite. Picture yourself traversing the cosmos for an eternity and more without reaching an end, only finding an infinite number of galaxies, stars and planets.
If the universe is really infinite that means the atoms that make up my body, my friends, my Guys, my home, my planet and my solar system are organized in a way that, given enough infinity, will repeat itself somewhere. In an infinite universe the events that created Earth, its oceans and the cycle of life that eventually led to my existence will inevitably happen elsewhere as well.

Sure, the odds of me ever happening were one in a googillion to begin with, but that’s the great thing about infinity: You never run out of the stuff. Somewhere, an uncountable number of light-years away from this Earth, floats another Earth just like this one, with another me, just like me.

So if a Guy sits down next to me in a whirlpool it is perfectly okay to feel him up to see if he’d be interested in having sex with me. In an infinite universe, it is a mathematical certainty that out there, somewhere and sometime, atoms will organize themselves in such a way that different yet totally identical versions of me and this Guy will meet up in a whirlpool under exactly the same circumstances. If I get rejected, I can always take solace in the fact my distant counterpart might have more luck.

In an infinite universe there is no such thing as true consequence. Everything has already happened and everything will happen again. That’s just how infinity works.

It’s thought trains such as these that wash away my sense of insecurity as if it’s tooth decay in a Colgate commercial. When your mind is pondering the wonders of infinity and the possible reality of there being an endless number of me’s in galaxies far, far away, groping a Guy in a whirlpool becomes such a mundane undertaking you can’t be bothered to doubt yourself doing it. You just do it.

I had no way of knowing what Guy #165 was thinking of when I started touching him, but I intuitively felt he shared my sense of wonder. The mere scope of the universe contrasting with the banality of two Homo sapiens going to third base in a whirlpool offers a person such clarity I wonder why people don’t call it Clarity instead of XTC.

Yeah.

Perhaps I should have mentioned I was on XTC the night I felt up Guy #165. As was he. As were all the people surrounding us. The odds of Guy #165 and me thinking the same thing were, again, one in a googillion, but emotionally we were on one and the same page and easily able to carry our make-out session on the wave of empathy that is XTC.

When you’re on XTC, you just ‘get’ people. You see their strengths, their weaknesses and most of all their humanity. Add some nakedness, some poppers and a space filled with a few hundred other naked Guys and before you know it you find yourself at the bar grabbing condoms from a bowl, enjoying the fact you live in a country where gays can celebrate their sexuality loud enough for the universe to hear it.

Guy #165 and I would celebrate our little cosmic connection in a lounge area occupied by a few dozen couples doing the very same thing. I thoroughly enjoyed his company and the sex with him was everything I had come for that night: Closeness without having to get close.

When I took a closer look at Guy #165 I felt sorry for him not being entirely attractive, even though his imperfections could have been the very thing I would have liked about him had I been sober.

I actually ran into Guy #165 about half a year later when I was in fact sober. We both ignored each other and I imagine he was as fine with pretending to be strangers as I was. I did take one more look at him and figured that, if the universe truly is infinite, an infinite number of me’s must be out there, wondering what the hell we were thinking the moment we groped up Guy #165.

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I haven’t seen or heard from him since.

Guy #160 and #161 – 9 minute 20 second relationships

According to PornHub the average human being visits their site for 9 minutes and 20 seconds.

Think about it. Isn’t it the greatest statistic in the history of statistics? That’s 9 minutes and 20 seconds between pressing Play and grabbing Kleenex.

9 minutes and 20 seconds is all the time we invest in porn stars as they go down on their routine, after which we casually dismiss them from our lives as if they have no meaning whatsoever.

Coincidentally, I’ve had relationships that lasted this long. I’ve known people I dismissed as soon as I was done with them. Guys #253 and #254 were among those whose life I walked out of the moment they had served their purpose. I met both of them last weekend. Both gave me a quick fix, after which I practically couldn’t bare to be with them.

When I started this blog I advocated the view that anyone looking for sex is looking for love. Yet last weekend I met two Guys, used them for bodily pleasure and then left them to their own devices as if they were homeless people asking for change.

I wasn’t always this heartless.

In fact, a little over a year ago I bumped into Guy #160. The place we were at allowed for sex to occur mere feet from where we met. Guy #160 wasn’t exactly pretty, but I was flattered by how much he wanted me. Even though I was about a foot taller than this little Asian fellow, he insisted he was only top. I always find it a bit awkward to bend over for a Guy smaller than me, but I remember being very much okay with anything Guy #160 set his mind to. It wasn’t really the sex I was after. Instead, I enjoyed the cuddling and kissing way more than I did those few seconds he frantically tried getting his Asian penis to turn Black-ish.
Cuddling and kissing would prove to be the peak of our relationship.

It wasn’t my intention however to end the relationship the moment Guy #160 couldn’t get it up. He seemed like a nice Guy, someone I’d enjoy cuddling up with and getting to talk to for the remainder of the night. However, as soon as Guy #160 had gathered his stuff, a towel, a flask of poppers and a barely used condom, he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and took off, never to be seen or heard from again.

It’s not that we had established any sort of connection I deemed worthy of celebrating, but it did make me feel slightly empty inside to see Guy #160 take off like that, almost as if he didn’t want me to be a memory.

Things went slightly better with Guy #161, who I met not long afterward. Sexually speaking Guy #161 was that night’s winner, though of course the competition had been anything but stiff. Actually, the sex with Guy #161 was better only in terms of how closely we resembled a porn scene. The nine minutes we spent in our cabin surely must have been a nice sight had there been anyone to see us, but our little sex ritual fell short of offering me any sense of intimacy or bonding.

After we were done Guy #161 offered me to join him and his Asian friends, who were hanging out in a lounge area.
Guy #161 was a friendly person, sociable and welcoming, but beyond that he bored me to no end. He and his friends all spoke English as a second language and while their use of English far exceeded my proficiency in whatever language they grew up with, their current conversation was one of shallow oneliners and meaningless catchphrases. These people had obviously seen every episode of Sex and the City and to their credit their impressions of Samantha Jones were spot-on. I however didn’t feel entirely in place in the presence of Asian Guys pretending to be a 60 year old slut. It wasn’t the kind of connection I was looking for.

A few minutes into Samantha’s breast cancer storyline I excused myself and told Guy #161 I would walk around some more, which we both knew meant cruising the darker areas in search of more meat, which I wouldn’t find that night.

 

 

A year ago I would proudly tell people about my blog and how it ‘proved’ love and sex are inseparable. Often Guys would look at me as if I don’t know how Guys work, that male sexuality prescribes we spread seed and not raise it into anything worth mentioning outside the walls of a gay sauna. Yet even though I was fully aware of how shallow my encounters with Guys like #160 and #161 had been, I wholeheartedly tried to establish at least some form of human bond between us. Granted, I didn’t try very hard, but at least I made some effort to live my sex life according to my belief that love and sex are like Batman and Robin, or at the very least Batman and Alfred…not Batman and the Joker.

A year ago I didn’t yet know why Guys joked about my ideas on love and sex, which is why I felt disappointment when Guy #160 walked out on me or when I walked out of Guy #161.

Last weekend I met two Guys. I had sex with both of them. They clearly wanted to hang around with me, but I couldn’t be bothered. I gave both a quick kiss on the cheek and wished them luck with the rest of their lives.

So did I become heartless? Or did I give too much heart to a place that has so little?

A lot can happen in a year.

You should read about it in my upcoming book.

Guy #159 – That thing I hate to talk about…

Let’s talk about anal sex. It’s a kind of sex the way artichokes are a kind of food: You usually don’t like it the first time around and good preparation is always key to success.

More specifically, you commit sodomy about as impulsively as you eat artichokes. Delightful and healthy as they are, both require a thorough cleansing. While it’s not something gay people talk about a lot, it’s common knowledge you need to clean yourself if you want to be on the receiving end of another Guy.

Of course accidents do happen from time to time. Anuses will forever be a two-way street. Consequently, if you insert something varying in size from a baby carrot to a banana you always run the risk of running into other traffic. And sometimes traffic comes out and turns a romantic get together into a bit of a mess.

Whenever this happens, it goes down as follows:
The top is commonly the first to notice something is wrong. He pulls out his baby carrot or banana and empathically says everything is not entirely clean.
The bottom then apologizes and quietly wishes the moment will be forgotten soon.
The lovemaking stops and both parties try their best to minimize the damage. The top takes a quick shower. The bottom requires a longer one, during which the top replaces the bed sheets.
Afterward the bottom apologizes and the top reassures him accidents can happen and that he shouldn’t worry. If the air is right, the awkwardness makes way for another round of foreplay, followed up by the sequel to Guy, Interrupted.

The better you know someone, the less uncomfortable these events are. However, the thing with people you meet on Grindr is that they are mostly strangers, people you’ll gladly share anything with as long as you don’t have to talk about it.

Guy #159 was such a stranger. Our Grindr conversation was courteous but equally goal oriented. He still lived with his parents, both of whom were on vacation for a few days. It meant he had the house to himself and with it a small window of opportunity for having a date over at his place. At the time I was unable to host people at mine, so I decided to not let this opportunity pass.

Guy #159 nor me had brought up the subject of who was to be top. I suppose we were too eager to get sex to deal with the technicalities involved in such an undertaking. Besides, my date was more than ten years younger than I was. It seemed a given my age, wisdom and ego would render me superior in each and every way. As such, I didn’t wash my artichoke with the intent of anyone consuming it, instead only making sure it looked decent on the outside.

You can guess where this is headed.

When I arrived at Guy #159’s place, the conversation was short and formal. The two of us shared a good vibe, but neither one could think of anything to say, probably because our minds were both focused on the sex. So instead of paining our brains to squeeze out unnecessary small talk, Guy #159 invited me to his bedroom, where sex happened.

Sex with Guy #159, as it turned out, was good. He made me feel incredibly relaxed, allowing me to succumb to the lovemaking. It was pleasant to have a stranger’s physicality mute my otherwise never ending stream of thoughts.  So when we got to the anal part my brain wasn’t working at full capacity.
“You like to bottom?” I asked, half expecting Guy #159 to lie on his back and eagerly put his legs up.
“I go both ways,” was Guy #159’s actual answer. He looked naughty when he said it and raised his body over mine.
“I go both ways as well,” I said, not wanting to disappoint. Also, I was so relaxed I couldn’t imagine me being a bottom would be problematic.

Cut to us a few minutes later:

“It’s not entirely clean,” Guy #159 says as my legs are wrapped around his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I say, ashamed and uncomfortable.
I look down and see the phrase It’s not entirely clean is an understatement and a testament to Guy #159’s politeness.
“It’s okay,” he says, as he pulls out and hastily grabs a tissue to do some damage control.
“Let me take that,” I quickly say, removing his condom and ferrying it with me to the bathroom as quickly as I can.

Stuck in an unknown bathroom, I can’t find any trashcan to lose my condom to, so I decide to throw it in the toilet.

And that’s when things get frantic.

I flush the toilet, but my condom has created itself an unsinkable air pocket. Flubby rubber rises back up with the same enthusiasm Guy #159 said he goes both ways. It’s too filthy to touch it, so I flush the toilet again, this time holding the condom down with a toilet brush, praying I will defy the laws of physics this way.

Naturally, the laws of physics defy me.

Meanwhile, Guy #159 is in his room, replacing the sheets and no doubt wondering what on Earth I’m flushing his toilet for, not once, not twice, but four times. I put on the shower for my third and fourth attempts, hoping the sound will mask the flushing, but probably just creating more sound and more stuff for Guy #159 to wonder about.

And no matter what I do, my condom keeps jollily floating in its newfound home, impervious to my efforts to drown it. Part of me can’t help but respect its resilience as if it’s the David to my Goliath. The other part however thinks of Guy #159, who could have replaced the sheets five times over by now and must be wondering what on Earth is taking me so long, or why I would flush his toilet and shower at the same time.

Cut to us another few minutes later:

While the presence of Guy #159 felt relaxing as it had before, I wasn’t quite comfortable going to fifth base with him again. The back of my mind constantly put forward the reminder that there was in fact a gross condom floating in his toilet that moment and that it would only be a matter of time before he’d find out.

Pleasant as his company was, I told Guy #159 I ‘really needed’ to go home, which was probably closer to the truth than it must have sounded to him at that point.
To my relief Guy #159 didn’t visit his bathroom while I was still in his house. We said goodbye amicably, but I already knew more than anything we wouldn’t be seeing each other ever again.

The walk home took me a good 45 minutes. The exercise felt cathartic, notwithstanding the guilt I felt knowing Guy #159 would soon discover why someone would flush a toilet four times whilst keeping the shower running. I eased my conscience by actively hoping he would manage to rid himself of that condom well before his parents got back from their vacation.

When I got back home I treated myself to another shower and took comfort in the thought I would never have to be reminded of this night ever again, until it hit me: I would have to write a blog about it someday…

Guy #158 – Dumped by an angel…

It was January 1st 2016, 4 a.m. I had spent the night before celebrating New Year at a party at a friend of a friend’s house, gobbling up the free wine as if there was no tomorrow. The place was Amsterdam, the city that never sleeps for a good two days a year, one of those being January 1st.

Generally speaking I’m not a big fan of the holiday season. I mostly like New Year’s celebrations because they announce the cessation of the generically merry festivities December is known for. So when the party at my friend’s friend’s place was starting to die off, I decided to try my luck at the local gay sauna, because surely there’s no place to not celebrate the season than at a gay sauna, a sentiment felt by many gay people, as the place was packed.

This particular night the sauna was filled with so many cute Guys I instantly knew I would start the new year on a positive note, something I was in need of at the time. I had just finished writing my first novel entitled The Super Secret Diary of a Young Dictator and had already received a few rejection letters from publishers who didn’t consider it the War and Peace of our time. I knew I wanted to be a writer, but I had no idea how I would go about selling myself as one.

As I scoured that night’s sauna looking for someone to up my ego through means of anal I enjoyed the many luscious looks I was getting. When I went to the bar to get a drink I found myself standing next to a somewhat cute looking Guy who at sight of me started caressing my chest with a heartwarming familiarity that won me over instantly. I knew this was far from the cutest Guy I could lay my hands on that night, but I reasoned having some fun with him could serve as a nice appetizer for other Guys to come.

And so it happened this Guy became Guy #158, my first lover of 2016. We secluded ourselves to the darker corners of our already secluded venue, where we had lovely sex that eventually flowed into lovely conversation. Guy #158 told me about himself. He was an American artist who was currently traveling the world, going from one exhibition to the next, selling his work, doing what he loves and getting laid in pretty much every time zone. It wasn’t long before I realized Guy #158 was living the life I wanted to live.

Hoping to get some valuable life lessons I told Guy #158 about my predicament. I specifically mentioned I considered it meaningful to start off the new year doing someone who was living my dream: writing, traveling and getting laid. Guy #158 told me about the importance of marketing myself and that I couldn’t reasonably expect to be successful if I didn’t put myself out there the way I usually only do when I’m at a gay sauna. It was at this point Guy #158 suggested I self publish my book. Up till then I had not considered the fact we live in a time where we can post anything we do online, including entire books.

Guy #158 and I had a great time together and I was very appreciative of his wisdom, so when he suggested we’d leave the sauna and finish the holiday season in his hotel room, I immediately said ‘Yes’, looking forward to spending the day in bed with someone I felt absolutely at ease with while at the same time getting valuable career advice.

The two of us quickly got dressed and met up at the sauna’s checkout counter. Guy #158 was the first one to walk through, followed by myself a few seconds later.

That’s when things turned eerie.

When I stepped outside Guy #158 was all but gone. I found myself in a small alley that stretched a good 50 meters in both directions, but couldn’t see Guy #158 anywhere. Feeling a bit stupid I asked the bouncer if he had seen anyone come out in front of me. He said he hadn’t, empathetically but also with little interest for my social life, almost as if ‘No’ was the only answer at his disposal, him being a bouncer and all.

I waited in said alley for about ten minutes, doubting everything that had just happened. Guy #158 seemed to have vanished into thin air. At first I figured that maybe he was still inside, which is why I waited for him to come out. Yet in my mind I had a very clear memory of him leaving the sauna mere seconds before I did. Did he suddenly change his mind and ran off? Surely no human being could cover 50 meters in mere seconds after receiving the amount of anal I had just given this one. And if the bouncer had seen someone running away wouldn’t he have told me? Besides, why would Guy #158 have disappeared on me? We’d been having a good time. He had even told me how good he felt in my company.

Nothing made sense.

I felt like a bit of a loser, standing in the cold at 6 a.m. on January 1st, alone and completely at odds with everything that had just happened. Part of me questioned if Guy #158 had been real. The way he had disappeared lacked a rational explanation.
After enduring the cold for about ten minutes, not to mention the increasingly annoying stares of the bouncer who didn’t like me standing in front of his entrance as if I had no life to speak of, I made my way to the train station, disillusioned, disappointed and with less ego than the year before. The only thing offering solace was the career advice I had been given. While I’m usually not too keen on attributing the unexplainable to the paranormal, that’s what my whole affair with Guy #158 had come to feel like.

A few weeks later I published my book on Amazon and ventured into the ins and outs of book marketing. Guy #158 to me had become an apparition of sorts. I’m still not 100% sure he was real, that’s how unreal his disappearance had been. The theory best fitting my senses is that Guy #158 was an angel from above, sent to inspire me to get my life on track.

Since its publication The Super Secret Diary of a Young Dictator went on to sell a staggering 30 copies.

So yeah, I probably got stood up by a Guy at 6 a.m. on January 1st.
Or, at best, I got stood up by an angel.

Guys #154, #155, #156 and #157 – My first orgy…

Porn.

How I used to love it.

Because if sex is enjoyable, watching people you kind of wish you’d look like having sex is a pleasant alternative.

I was about 18 years old when I got internet. It’s safe to say I reached maturity to the tune of Pshhhkkrr​kakingkakingkakingtsh​chch​ding!ding!ding!
When I first went online I searched this internet, or Altavista as I called it, for pictures of airplanes. They took a minute to download. If I was lucky, I would find a three second clip of an airplane taking off, angering my mother who didn’t want me to occupy the phone line for an hour and a half.

I intuitively liked the internet. It didn’t have a lot of cat videos at the time, but I couldn’t imagine ever being in need of pussy. Instead, it wasn’t long before the following thought occurred to me: If Altavista has pictures of planes flying, does it also have pictures of boys riding?

It was that tiny era of human history when credit cards stood in the way of watching full-fledged porn movies, so I settled for the excitement of tiny thumbnails. Still, Altavista had pictures of boys riding alright. Sure the phone bill got a little higher, but for the first time I saw how my own sexuality was in fact quite common and not particularly unpleasant to look at.

To those who tried to call me during this time of my life, getting a busy signal probably meant I was busy masturbating.

This one time I landed on a site that had three videos a few minutes each. It was the first time I got my hands on a bit of actual porn, not just a tiny thumbnail, but actual moving imagery, video of lots of Guys engaged in lots of sex! I felt like Columbus setting foot in The New World. The videos took about an hour to download. I wanted to download more when I read a little disclaimer on the bottom of the site I was visiting. It said it cost seventy cents a minute. That sparked a bit of a panic.

I went offline and closed every window. I removed every bit of digital history I could possibly find. It was the day I first learned about cookies. And having just seen porn it was as if my cookie bin was filled with skeletons that weren’t ready to come out of their closet.
I erased every trace of my porn past. And trust me, I learned a lot about computers that night: Cookies are just the beginning.

The one thing I couldn’t erase was the phone bill.

My mother wasn’t the frugal type, but 40 Euros on a phone bill sparks interest. It even inspired her to call the phone company and ask them about it. I wonder what went through her mind when a helpdesk employee told her someone in her house had been downloading porn.

Curiosity killed the cat, but we didn’t have cats, so I was next in line to have my curiosity reprimanded.

Or so I thought, because my mother actually took it quite well. While I was engulfed in shame, she explained how having a healthy sex drive is only natural, about as natural as paying one’s mother the 40 Euros you owe her due to a self expedition campaign that went over budget.
I’d like to think she enjoyed being a mum in that moment, when she comforted me by saying a high sex drive kind of runs in our family. I think she was relieved at least I was sexual, having never brought home a girlfriend or something that could make her a grandmother someday. Porn gave her that moment, with a little help from the phone company.

It was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life, but porn has never been as exciting as that night I learned where cookies come from.

 

It was worth every cookie. Those few minutes of gay porn opened up a whole new realm of fantasies…or rather they confirmed those fantasies for me.
Eventually, I would come to chase two things, both of which I was chasing the night I saw my first porn scene: Sex and excitement.

At first, the pursuit of sex went hand in hand with the thrill. It was true the first time I had sex, the first time I had good sex, the first time I had sex with more than one Guy, not to mention that time I did porn myself.

As we all know, obtaining porn these days is easier than ordering a pizza. As for the internet, it has since given birth to Grindr, Hornet and a dozen or so apps that tell me where sex can be found. The more boundaries you break, the more difficult it becomes to find new ones.

As such, the more sex you have the less exciting it becomes…with a few notable exceptions.

One of those exceptions was the first time I attended a gay orgy.

At 33 years of age I got thrust into a bit of gay subculture I hadn’t yet explored. While I was familiar with sex dating, the vast majority of my sexual experiences had been with one Guy at the time. I had experienced this one massive gay orgy some years before, but found it didn’t entice me. The reason a 150 Guy-sexfest didn’t do anything for me was because it had been anonymous, way too crowded, uninspired and lacking all forms of intimacy.

This time however I found myself in the seclusion of a living room at a friend’s house, along with about eight other Guys, all of them horny, all of them aching for sex and excitement and all of them high as a kite. It’s the kind of setting that allows you to bond with total strangers in a heartbeat. Look someone in the eye at an orgy and you’re connecting with someone who’ll bear your secret as you bear it for him. Add some XTC to that and a blowjob becomes a way of saying ‘hi’, a way of sealing the unspoken bond you automatically share at such a gathering.

Being in a room with eight naked Guys was more exciting than anything I’d ever done before, sexually speaking. It was as if the seed that had planted itself the moment Altavista produced its first tiny thumbnail had finally come to fruition. And like that very first time I watched porn, it felt deliciously bad, naughty and consequently rewarding.

Only this time I was able to share the experience with other people. I quickly learned that, to me, it wasn’t sex, it wasn’t the excitement, it was the connection I felt with total strangers that got me high more than anything. Well, that and the XTC of course.

Actually, of all the Guys only two or three were what I would consider hot. The others weren’t really my type, but I was glad to be sharing the experience with them regardless. Really, one shouldn’t underestimate just how potent XTC is.

Even though I had eight naked Guys at my disposal, I mostly focused on Guy #154, whom I had sex with in full view and at times admiration of those present. Guy #154 and I both got high by our mutual attraction to each other, notwithstanding the fact ‘high’ had been the altitude where we first met. We had a great evening as we celebrated our sexual prime on each other. We would later become friends and meet up at numerous parties. Guy #154 would eventually tell me the night of our first meeting had been his first orgy as well. We’ve probably been feeding off each other’s excitement from the day we met.

In fact, I’m glad my first partner at an orgy was someone like Guy #154. At the time I had no way of knowing, but he was the kind of Guy that could empathize with my former self, hopelessly downloading some snippets of gay porn and being caught by my mother in the process. Guy #154 was someone to whom secrecy was an integral part of his existence as, in many ways, it had been for me.

Apart from Guy #154 I also more or less had sex with Guys #155, #156 and #157 that night, albeit briefly. Guy #155 decided he liked my penis so much he wanted to ride it. I would have told him not to, were it not for the fact I was so busy with Guy #154 I hardly noticed him being my bottom bitch for a few minutes. Guys #156 and #157 both did some oral stuff, but nothing spectacular. I had in fact reached a point where the sex itself had become mundane. It was the setting that made it spectacular, like watching porn for the first time. I was finally living a fantasy I had always deemed unrealistic, above me even.

That 18 year old teenager who got hard at the sound of a dial-up modem had set himself on a path of exploration. Thumbnails led to porn, porn led to quietly experimenting with Guys, which in turn had led to all sorts of meaningful experiences, like falling in love, getting hurt and gonorrhea and somehow gaining confidence from all of it. With each sexual experience my confidence had grown somewhat. The more excitement I conquered, the more I culminated into the Guy I wanted to be when Altavista showed me pictures of boys riding.

And here I was, 15 years later, celebrating my sexuality like a champion.

The first time you experience a drug induced gathering where nakedness is the dress code you can’t help but be overwhelmed. It’s one of those Now I’ve seen it all-moments, where you witness four Guys engaged in acrobatics no one would dare tell their mother about, as a fifth Guy casually helps himself to some GHB that’s freely available in the kitchen, while Guy #154 and I enjoy the poppers that scatter the coffee table like biscuits at a high tea. For a few hours time stands still and Earth might just as easily be a completely different planet than the living room you’re in, comfortably stuck in a world where intimacy and sex flow like the drugs that precede them.

It was one of the happiest days of my life, that’s for sure.

Of course, back when Altavista presented me with its first tiny thumbnail I had no idea thumbnails would ever grow to bore me. When I first watched porn, I had not yet experienced a world where internet has more free porn than anyone could watch in a lifetime. Likewise, when I had my first gay orgy, I couldn’t fathom ever being jaded by that much sex.

I would quickly learn it’s not uncommon for gay Guys to get together every so often to share sex and drugs. It’s a wonderful concept, but truth be told the drugs prevented me from seeing the dark side of that much nakedness. It’s something I would grow to experience in the year that followed.

 

 

To me, the unexpected highlight of my first orgy (and perhaps every orgy that followed), was the downtime that followed afterward, when the drugs subside and basic underwear replaces all the naked. It’s a time when sex makes place for conversation. It’s like waking up from a journey and being able to ride your sense of wonder together. Being the bearer of each other’s secrets, the air is one of trust and empathy, people get stripped of their defenses and tend to open up completely, as did Guy #154 and me. The afterhours of an orgy are a time of reflection, taking place in a cocoon that shields attendees from the outside world on account of what they’ve just shared with each other. It’s like being that 18 year old kid who sees his first porn movie and getting sucked into that reality right then and there.

At 33 years of age I had my most exciting sexual experience (up till that point that is), 15 years after I discovered it as a possibility. Sex is a journey, a continuous obstacle course with occasional highlights and a never ending string of lessons.
My first orgy taught me two things:

People at orgies always have the most fascinating backstories.

One shouldn’t underestimate the power of XTC.

 

 

 

DO WHAT I DID: START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #150 and #151 – Adam and Steve and some Guy they met on Grindr…

Put simply, the concept of threesomes tends to warp common boundaries people might have for what they consider normal, acceptable or decent. This is true for people who shy away from threesomes as much as it holds up for those that engage in them.

You can’t enjoy a threesome if you’re not sexually confident.

This makes threesomes a bit of a risky game. When there’s two of you, you can focus all your energy on making the other person at ease, comfortable or, if that doesn’t work, high. But when Adam and Steve reel in a Guy from Grindr, attention will have to be divided. As I pointed out before, threesomes always run the risk of being psychological warfare.

In the case of Guy #150 and #151, they were Adam and Steve, two Guys in their sexual prime at the peak of their beauty, and I was this Guy they talked to on Grindr. When they found out they were both chatting with the same person the decision was made to reel me in. Not wanting to miss out on sex with two people whose selfies were well above average, I hastily cycled to their place, knowing all too well there was a very real opportunity one of my dates would consider me an intruder of sorts, that my presence was but a compromise to keep a relationship sexually interesting.

The first pleasant surprise of the evening came when I met Guy #150 and #151: Both of them were equally cute to me. This meant that, whatever issues they might have with dividing attention, I would be flexible and all too happy to bend myself into the dynamic of their relationship no matter what.

The second pleasant surprise came when I noticed there wasn’t much of a relationship going on. Guy #150 and #151 turned out to be friends and not lovers. They in turn both looked pleasantly surprised by how much I resembled the Guy from my Grindr pictures. Indeed, pleasant surprises were flying all over the place, filling the room with a scent of anticipatory arousal.

Instead of going straight to the sex part, my hosts laid me down on their bed and put on a movie. I don’t remember much of the decision making process that preceded it, but I do recall being pleasantly surprised they put up American Psycho, a movie I had been meaning to see for years.

Unsurprisingly, but not any less pleasant, the movie was as entertaining as Christian Bale was cute. As the three of us lay on bed, we quietly allowed each other to get sucked into the story, cuddling up against each other. What made it fun was the unspoken knowledge our little gathering would evolve into sex well before the end credits.

In fact, Christian Bale was about to butcher one of his friends with an ax when the kissing started.

I don’t remember seeing much of the movie afterward, except that the credits rolled around the time the three of us were done with each other.

It was the best threesome I ever had, not because the sex was spectacular, but because the dynamic had been. Guys #150 and #151 were two ‘pals’ who happened to engage in sex every now and then. Being a stranger from Grindr, I fit right in. What made ‘movie night’ fun was the total lack of issues: No jealousy, no attention deprivation, no insecurities…the only thing hanging in the air was an unspoken sense of horniness, distributed evenly among us. Whatever issues we may have had, they were neatly canalized by all the blood going on in the background.
“You guys are bastards,” Guy #150 said after we were done. The three of us laughed: Guy #151 and I had turned Guy #150 into the designated bottom that night, something I suppose had been a pleasant surprise on his end.

When I started 168guys.com, one of the morals pouring down on each of my stories was the ‘fact’ there is no such thing as just sex, that every act of sex is but an opportunity for unresolved mother issues and past intimacy failures to resurface. While I still believe I got hard by Christian Bale the ax murderer as part of my innate desire to be loved, being loved doesn’t have to be complicated, lasting or even real when you find it on Grindr.

One could argue Guys #150 and #151 were the first to show me there can be such a thing as just sex, simply three Guys getting together and having fun.

Or maybe it had just taken me 150 Guys to become sexually confident.

Naturally, I did not stay in touch with Guy #150 or #151. It was just sex after all.

Also, I have yet to sit down one day and actually watch Christian Bale slaughter some of his friends.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One feature length movie
FORMAT: Just sex
SEX SCORE (0 = Murder porn <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.5

Guy #148 – Three out of three…

If planet Earth houses 7 billion people, it’s safe to say a few hundred million of those people are Guys who enjoy mating with other Guys.

On the other hand, of all the hundreds of millions of gay Guys this planet has to offer, frustratingly few of them set up camp on remote tropical paradises.

Life in the Caribbean was nice, but after spending a total of seven years under the sun I was drawn back to a gayer place: Home. I had spent some time in the Netherlands over the years, dating Guys here and there, but I had never settled there as a gay person. The last time I truly lived in my home country had been nearly ten years prior, around the time I ‘clumsied’ around with Guys #1 through #4.

So I moved back home and went online, only to discover something: Local gay scenes are often small, libido driven hamlets where everybody knows your name if not your selfie. Though known for its lustrous gay life, most people I met in Amsterdam were already a friend of a Facebook friend.

Guy #148 was no exception.

The first time I learned of Guy #148’s existence was when Guy #108 befriended me. Going over Guy #108’s wall I saw many pictures of him with two other guys. One of those Guys would later become Guy #130 and the other one was Guy #148.

So when Guy #148 and I got in touch online I already knew two of his best friends. That feeling people supposedly have when they get to yell Bingo, that’s the feeling I was chasing when I suggested the two of us meet up for a drink.

While I showed interest in Guy #148 during our date, I don’t remember a single thing we talked about. I do remember him showing some reluctance in getting physical. That worried me a little. If you’ve done two out three stooges it just seems silly to not get horizontal with the third.

So I got tactical.

I entertained my date by means of doing interesting conversation stuff, asking questions, making him feel at home, validated…until the time had come no more trains were leaving Amsterdam.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘we’ve been talking for so long, I lost track of time. I don’t mean to intrude, but I kind of need a place to sleep.’

And so Guy #148 offered me to spend the night in his bed, where we exchanged mildly satisfying sexual favors for about fifteen minutes before going to sleep.

Bingo. Three out of three.

Things weren’t exactly romantic when we woke up next morning. I saw little reason to continue treating Guy #148 as if I found him interesting, and on some level he must have felt he was no more than a score card.

We parted ways way before breakfast and never spoke to each other again. We didn’t even become Facebook friends.

It’s not that I didn’t find Guy #148 interesting. I remember he was. I know for a fact I really enjoyed our conversation. I just hadn’t flown back home to have a conversation. I had flown back to consume the gay scene I had left behind nearly ten years earlier. Guy #148 was simply the first familiar face on a long list of semi-familiar faces, friends of familiar faces and the occasional actual new face.

While I never considered my years in the Caribbean a waste of time, I was now ready to finally enjoy gay life to the full, which, considering I already had sex with 147 Guys, seems like a bit of a spoiled attitude, which it was, which is probably why Guy #148 didn’t bother to make me breakfast.

Come to think of it, ever since I moved back to the Netherlands I probably consumed more Guys than breakfasts.

At the time of Guy #148 I didn’t know it, but I still had so much to learn.

Lucky for me there are a few hundred million Gay guys on the planet.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night stand, but mostly just a sleepover
SEX SCORE (0 = The concept of Facebook friends <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #145 – Look at me not being shallow!

Sometimes I like to look at human beings as I imagine aliens would. Aliens, in my view, would be unable to rank us based on our attractiveness. Voluptuous lips, muscled legs, dark blue eyes, straight teeth, abs…all of it would look equally random when seen from hundreds of light years away.

The reason I try to take on an alien perspective is simple: I often wish I wasn’t as shallow as I am. I wish I could be happy with someone whose looks don’t turn me on. I wish I had it in me to not consider it a compromise.
In fairness, there have been times I enjoyed being intimate with someone I deemed of a lesser league, but always because I knew the fun would be temporary and wholly non committing.

How liberating it would be to view Guys as aliens would, ranking them on their merits and not their looks.

I guess my relationship with Guy #144 made me long for some liberty, which is why I attained an open mind the moment Guy #145 hit me up online.

Guy #145 was not at all unattractive by alien standards. Yet through my petty human eyes he looked like one of those people you just assume are good at math because why else would the universe have made them so dorky, clumsy and overall off the mark when it comes to outer beauty?
Guy #145 was the kind of Guy whose online attempts at starting a conversation would have been futile solely on account of his looks: I’m not on Grindr to make other people feel good about themselves. I’m there to make me feel good about myself. Entering a conversation with an unattractive person is something I consider a waste of time when it’s my genitals I’m trying to satisfy.

Then again, time is relative when light years are involved.

So for once I decided to empathize with this Guy #145 and his grainy, sad attempt of a selfie. I figured it must have taken at least some courage to hit me up, knowing all too well the odds of me replying were as slim as he should have been.
And so it happened Guy #145 and I became engaged in conversation. As is so often the case with unattractive people, he was good at having a conversation, putting in the effort hot Guys seldom do.
A few days later I found myself at his place, on his couch, holding a glass of water and observing him as he sat across from me. The thought of having sex with him made me queasy, yet at the same time I couldn’t help but like Guy #145. He had this inner calm over him I myself tend to lack. We spoke about spirituality for well over an hour and found we had a lot in common. Guy #145 was the kind of Guy who, like me, could empathize with aliens in aid of making himself a better person, something not at all common in the gay scene.

At some point during our date I flipped the switch and went into alien mode. I decided I would not let Guy #145’s greasy skin or nigh lack of upper lip turn me off, instead making a conscious effort to focus solely on his personality and the fact I was sharing a room with a wise, generous, friendly and by all galactic standards more than decent Homo sapiens.

I can’t say the sex was satisfying, but I did get to experience a sense of pride, patting myself on the back for not being shallow.
Being so immensely focused on my newfound character depths I neglected to note whether or not Guy #145 had any fun going down on me, but I reckon he did: He invited me over a second time mere days after our first date.

Our second date echoed our first: We talked about philosophy, spirituality, music, life, the shallowness of the gay scene…and then of course we had sex. Yet as much as I tried to look at Guy #145 as if I had traveled light years to be with him, the novelty of not being shallow had worn off. It had taken me one date to prove I have it in me to not be shallow. Now all I really wanted was to celebrate my layered personality with abs.

Long story shallow: After two fun, interesting and rewarding dates with Guy #145, I moved on to #146.

Spoiler alert: #146 had abs.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 2.5 hours
FORMAT: Sex mixed with philosophical banter
SEX SCORE (0 = Platonic porn <–> 10 The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #143 – For the very first time…

I guess we all adjust to the ones we’re with. Or maybe I just lack the backbone to be myself in front of other people.

Guy #143 was barely of legal age, he still went to high school, lived with his mother and was also unbelievably mature for his age, not to mention cute. While part of me couldn’t help but feel like a pedophile, another part fell hopelessly in love.
Guy #143 was mature for his age. I didn’t say I was.

The year was 2015, I was 32 years old and life threw me my first and only high school crush. We had the best conversations, it be about the burdens of parental supervision, high school gossip or how hard having homework can be.

When you fall in love for the first time you don’t know any better or it’s the single most important life event in the history of life itself. Every hug, every kiss, every app, all of it matters. When you’re in love for the first time, you don’t yet know you’re suffering from a psychological disorder that tends to prelude clinical depression the way Oreos precede a sugar crash.

At 32 I was old enough to know all that. I had been in love before. It had depressed me on more than one occasion. Yet for all my experience, I had never actually been with someone who was in love with me as much as I was in love with him. In terms of having a successful love live, the first month of my two month relationship with Guy #143 was probably my happiest to date.

Not wanting his classmates to see him dating a Guy old enough to be his teacher, Guy #143 insisted we’d keep our thing under wraps. Not wanting to be considered a pedophile, I happily obliged. If anything the secrecy only made our love more special, more meaningful, more like something people make movies about.

We started off with a one month streak of four successful dates, interwoven with endless Whatsapp conversations in which I fueled our connection by validating all of Guy #143’s drama for the serious stuff that it was.
Yet as much as it made me feel young and alive to be doing his homework, it was precisely the fact I found myself doing homework at 32 that made me wonder if Guy #143 and I had any future to speak of.

On the other hand, you don’t care about the future when you’re in love for the first time. Not even me, who had taken 32 years to finally enjoy life as a teenager. I wasn’t about to let go of that.

But I guess the future looks different depending on how old you are, regardless of maturity. Guy #143, as it turned out, saw it differently.

I will never know why, but one day Guy #143 went from saying I love you during sex to saying his mother needed him to be home at ten, instead of sex. All the enthusiasm, his sparkling personality and playful bedside manner…it all vanished into thin air. What was left was a teenager who kept all his feelings inside but would rather die than talk to an adult about it. No matter how hard I empathized with his mother issues, no matter what Whatsapp emoticon I threw at him, not even the amount of homework I did changed anything about his curtness.

The joy I had felt during our first four dates was replaced by despair. As so often happens when you fall in love, it lures you in before it reveals its true nature. Butterflies turn into bats, birds and bees become vultures and flies, happy becomes black. It had happened to me before, but this being my first high school crush it came as a surprise nonetheless.

As weeks passed, the dates stopped coming, as did the emoticons. A day or two after finishing his paper on the Russian Revolution all frequencies went silent.

I was heartbroken for about a week, far from the worst sugar crash I ever had. I suppose I was relieved I could stop living life as a teenager.

While I never understood why Guy #143 became distant all of a sudden, it was at one point revealed to me he had cheated on me with a Guy old enough to have been my teacher.

Turns out people tend to lose perspective when they’re in love for the first time. Thankfully, I learned my lesson and never fell hopelessly in love ever again for well over a year.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 months
FORMAT: Dawson’s Creek meets Boy Meets World
SEX SCORE (0 = The Russian Revolution <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.3

 

DO WHAT I DID. START WITH GUY #1!

Guy #142 – The awkwardness of dating people the normal way…

Old fashioned as it may seem, sometimes you meet people you will have sex with on normal, everyday gatherings such as birthday parties.

Guy #142 and I met one night and ended up eating cake together, which somehow evolved into us exchanging phone numbers.

A few weeks later I found myself having sex with him on his kitchen floor.

The weird thing is, when you meet someone the normal way and then have sex with him, it’s almost as if it means something. If you prefer someone from real life over a stranger from Grindr, you’re inclined to take the other person seriously.

Though neither one of us felt any obligation, we did think of our little dating experiment in terms of the word relationship.

At least, I may have thought that’s what people do with people you meet the normal way, I’m not sure. In fact, I was never quite sure whether we were committing, casual or somehow both.

Guy #142 wasn’t really my kind of attractive. It meant that if I wanted to have something meaningful with him, I would have to make an effort. Had I met him through Grindr I would have dismissed him as just another sex date. Yet our sexual chemistry had evolved all by itself, the way nature intended it. It felt off dismissing something like that.

The two of us could have pleasant conversations, he made the best cocktails and he was someone I could cuddle up with at a time when I was in need of that. Yet the more I drank of his cocktails, the more I came to realize I was in no way willing to make the effort to truly open up to him.

Guy #142 became more distant as time progressed. I suppose he had taken note of how spoiled I can be toward people I don’t consider underwear models.

For a while after we dated Guy #142 wasn’t just my ex but also my hairdresser, which meant we kept seeing each other the normal way, restricting ourselves to normal stuff.

I always enjoyed it when Guy #142 cut my hair. It was intensely relaxing, even more so because he was the kind of hairdresser who explicitly preferred not to talk while he was working, meaning I got a soothing and conversationless head massage that turned me on each time I got one.

And each time Guy #142 cut my hair I would wonder if maybe the thought of having sex with me occurred to him as he was busy making me look prettier. To me, the arousal came as naturally as it had on his kitchen floor. I figured a barber having sex in his shop would make a good blog story one day, but to his credit Guy #142 stayed professional every time. I very much doubt his mind was on sex as much as it was on mine. I guess Guy #142 was way more accustomed to all the normal going on.

The reason he probably didn’t think of having sex with me might very well be that I was the kind of person unable to not think of it. Plus he viewed his job as a craft, an art form of sorts, not the kind of thing one sets the normal aside for.

Still, considering a hairdresser who talks is like a psychiatrist that touches you, it was awesome getting the silent treatment.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 1 year
FORMAT: Few weeks of dating followed by four or five haircuts
SEX SCORE (0 = A hairdresser that talks <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

 

Guy #139 – So sometimes hot Guys are into me…

When I met Guy #22, he was the most beautiful Guy I’d ever been with.
When I met Guy #81, he was the most beautiful Guy I’d ever been with.
Until I met Guy #106, the most beautiful Guy I’ve ever been with.

Except for Guy #139 that is.

I don’t know what to tell about Guy #139 except for the fact he was the most beautiful Guy I have ever been with up till now. He was a Colombian tourist who visited my home island of Curaçao for a weekend. Although I hardly ever take initiative on Grindr, the sight of his abs compelled me to say ‘Hi’. I couldn’t imagine someone this undeniably gorgeous to take an interest in me, but much to my surprise he said ‘Ola’ back.

Guy #139 spoke Spanish. I did not.
I spoke English. Guy #139 did not.

So when I went to meet Guy #139 at his hotel, our only means of communicating was this phone app he had. I would say something in English and then some distant cousin of Siri would read my words back to him in Spanish and vice versa.

It was frustrating having to articulate and compress all my thoughts into childlike sentences, but at the same time I was probably blessed by our little language barrier: I was so in awe of Guy #139’s beauty I had trouble thinking of sensible things to say. Had we been granted a common language odds are I would have awkwardized our date beyond repair, as I so often do in the presence of beauty.

Guy #139 and I walked down a beach until we reached the outer edge of the hotel’s wifi network, where Spanish Siri rendered our conversation dead. Forced to head back, Guy #139 suggested we’d get together in my car.

And so Guy #139 and I had sex in my car in broad daylight on a parking lot where ‘hotel_guest’ got one bar, just enough to ask my Colombian twink underwear model to join me on the back seat. I usually don’t like car sex, but Guy #139 being so incredibly good looking my libido allowed me to let go of my inhibitions. I didn’t care whether we’d be seen, get caught or even disturbed.

What I did care about was whether or not I was enjoying Guy #139 to the full. Though I wholeheartedly embraced the Naughty, I really wanted to embrace Guy #139, something that proved difficult in a 1982 Mazda.

Earlier, Siri’s cousin had informed me my date would also be available later that night, for a full few hours, meaning I could pick him up, take him to my place, get high to the sound of the ocean, embrace the most beautiful Guy I ever had sex with and then drop him off again.
To increase my chances of seeing Guy #139 a second time I stopped when he started showing signs of coming. I wanted him close, but not over the edge just yet. Except for sexual chemistry there was no language in which I could adequately express how much I wanted him at my place later that night. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted something to look forward to as well. And in another stroke of pure luck, neither one of us had condoms at hand, meaning our car date would leave something to be desired no matter what.

I suppose it’s a good thing Guy #139 had no access to my thoughts.

I’d like to think of Guy #139 as a little present the universe threw in my path, just a quick reminder that yes, sometimes even beautiful Guys are attracted to me. This one in particular was all too eager to come to my place that night, where we got high and then had sex in which I embraced the living daylights out of him. We hugged a lot too. And then I dropped him off at his hotel, knowing all too well the chances of me ever owning Guy #139 again were slimmer than the plot of Jurassic Park actually happening.

In a way I was relieved I’d never be seeing Guy #139 again, beautiful as he was. I couldn’t help but feel I had enjoyed him to the full, meaning every other attempt at having a conversation would just be pushing it, not to mention make things awkward.

I’m pretty sure he’s the most beautiful thing ever to have found itself inside of that 1982 Mazda though.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 x 1 hour + 1 x 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date + a better sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Philately <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.9

Guy #138 – The hotness that is clinical depression…

A few years ago my father died. I never dealt with it very well. Sometimes I wonder if I myself want to live at all.

Those were the words Guy #138 spoke toward the end of our date, mere seconds before getting in his car and driving off.

More often than not, a sex date is the kind of thing you don’t want lasting too long. When the physical relationship has played its part, the usual lack of remaining chemistry makes you want to bail out, to get back to your own life, away from any naked strangers.
Guy #138 was a notable exception in that respect.

Sometimes clinical depression looks good on a Guy. Before he spoke of his suicidal tendencies Guy #138 had been another good looking human being that had Grindred his way to my back yard, where I had the pleasure of doing him for a good few minutes. It was fun, sure, but our relationship was expressed entirely in movements, cold, concise and deliberate movements typical of a sex date: The silent walk toward the spot we’d be having sex, the somewhat obligatory crotch grabbing, the three stages of foreplay (kissing, handwork and oral), followed by an uneasy intermission needed to get condom and lube in place, followed by doing that thing Guy #138 had in mind back when he said ‘Hi’ on Grindr.

Afterward, Guy #138 and I both lit up a cigarette as we walked back to his car. Our dialogue was brief and in many ways compulsory as our movements had been, yet a few sentences into our conversation he told me about the death of his father and his own subsequent depression.

Sometimes orgasms are but a prelude to social awkwardness and self pity, but I guess they also have a tendency to lower our defenses. Sometimes the relationship stops being one of movements after those movements have climaxed.
Suddenly, seconds before he would drive off, Guy #138 became interesting, his perpetual sadness adding a welcome dimension to his already well defined abs.

Guy #138 had somewhere else to be though. He never intended to spend more than 15 minutes with me. It was only in that final minute I became frustrated by the agreed upon format of our relationship. I wanted to know more of Guy #138. I wanted to hear his story, perhaps even cuddle up with him and let him ponder ways to kill himself.

For the record, I wasn’t being morbid. I was being empathetic.
Okay, I was being morbidly empathetic, but still, I wanted nothing more than to share my good intentions with Guy #138. More specifically, I had glimpsed someone I could connect with, which is what I have in mind each time I say ‘Hi’ on Grindr.

I accidentally ran into Guy #138 about a year later. Our date had taken place in obscurity. This time we met in a crowded and brightly lit place. Good intentions aside, I didn’t recognize Guy #138 when he stood before me and rather enthusiastically said ‘Hi’. He needed to remind me who he was. I tried to make up for my apparent ambivalence by texting him, asking if he would be willing to meet up with me again sometime.
I haven’t seen or heard from him since.

For what it’s worth, I hope Guy #138 is doing better these days, and I guess I would like to run into him again someday and actually be aware it is him. I’d like to know more than just his moves.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 15 minutes + 2 minute awkward encounter
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Clowns <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #136 and #137 – The ones who inspired this blog…

It’s not always easy not being the relationship type, especially when there are very few gay people around.

In fact, living on a small Caribbean island most of my Grindr conversations were with tourists and the occasional flight attendant. My window of opportunity for getting dates was often small. There have been many, many gorgeous Colombian Guys who dug my mirror selfies to the point they regretted not being able to leave their family to go hump me for a few hours. I regretted it too, and it wasn’t long before I became somewhat sexually frustrated.

So when I picked up Guy #136 from his hostel one night it was mostly because he was free and willing, not because his selfies had been stellar. We ended up having sex next to a pile of two-by-fours on an abandoned construction site with a view of the ocean. It was ridiculously bad, awkward and as a result even a tad gross. Guy #136 came off as a clumsy hump of nerves, part overly excited to have some fun, part hopelessly inept at doing so.

It felt off doing this primitive sex ritual with such premeditation and routine. Guy #136 and I both knew our relationship would be measured in minutes and that we should probably just ignore the other in case we’d ever pass each other on the street again (which is what I did when I ran into Guy #125 at the gym a few days ago).
Even though I wasn’t the relationship type, it had always been the connection with someone that made sex something worth chasing. It made me wonder what on Earth I had been chasing the moment I decided to pick up Guy #136.

The same question popped up in my head when I visited Guy #137 in his vacation bungalow a few sexually dry weeks later. Guy #137 matched #136 in clumsiness, but this time I realized it was me who was causing it. I remember feeling misplaced, simply because I wasn’t having any fun. I was living a sad derogative of an unrealistic fantasy. I halfheartedly forced myself to feign arousal so that Guy #137 might not notice how much of a disappointment he was to me, but I suppose I was unable to mask the disappointment I felt toward myself. I have no way of knowing what Guy #137 felt in my presence, but I’m pretty sure we both felt relief when I left. Our date had transpired quicker than a Judge Judy court session.

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It reminded me of my first date with a Guy, nearly ten years prior. I remembered the excitement of getting my first kiss from someone, followed some Guys later by my first good kiss. The more sex you have, the more difficult it can become to experience the thrill of it. More and more it becomes a matter of who you do it with and when you lack suitable ‘who’s’, you go for cheap thrills, in the case of Guy #137 a bungalow bedspring that squeaked its way through our ten minute date as if it was the soundtrack to our relationship.

So what was it I was chasing? And why was there this Grindr to facilitate other people chasing it? Construction site sex with a stranger by its very nature is a compromise on many levels. Stranger yet, unless people generally have lower standards than I do (and I highly doubt that’s the case), a lot of us appease to our limited options by default. It’s as if many of us consider ourselves lucky to have weird sex at all.

How did that happen?

After I got home from my quickie with Guy #137 I got high and recalled the first time I had sex with someone. I was struck by how the excitement of my first date contrasted with the sheer ambivalence of my time with Guys like #136 or #137, or #134, #131 and #124 through #129, to name but a very few.

I wondered if perhaps the story of my often clumsy but occasionally spectacular sex life could be fun for people to read, perhaps even helpful. The internet has a lot of sex, but it does a poor job picturing the social maze that accompanies it.

The thought of writing about my sex life for the world to see brought back the excitement my date with Guy #1 had been about. As with then, part of me hesitated to move forward. Then again, what better way to give at least some meaning to dates like the ones with #136 and #137 than to have people laugh about them?

I started writing the day I met and said farewell to Guy #137.

Guess there was something worth chasing there after all.

Relationship summaries:

Guy #136:
LENGTH: 20 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Having to spell out your name to get a Starbucks coffee <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #137:
LENGTH: 8.25 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Making ‘Tall’ the new ‘Small’ <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2

 

Get the full story. Start with Guy #1 here.

Guy #135 – The best sex ever…

The last time I had sex with Guy #135 I whispered “I love you” seconds before coming. It felt strange to say the L-word for a change, but above anything else I knew I meant it, even after coming. That almost never happens.

What I loved most about Guy #135 was his wisdom. I’ve never seen him radiate anything but Zen. Though about ten years younger than me, I often felt my own cynicism came off as immature by comparison. Guy #135 was as much a boyfriend as he was a spiritual guide.

On top of that he was also one of the most beautiful Guys I ever met in my life. He looked what you’d expect Adam of Adam and Steve fame to look like, beauty in its most natural incarnation, or doable to the highest degree as I thought the night we met.

His online selfies had been strangely obscure. Had my home been at the center of a lustrous gay life, I might not have even met up with Guy #135. Instead my home was a little tropical paradise. Guy #135 lived an island away and was visiting mine for a week. Not wanting to forego the possibility of sex with a possibly good looking Guy in a place with so few, we met up on his penultimate night there.

I instantly regretted spending the better half of a week not making an effort to set a date, only because his selfies had been so obscure. It would be the first of many times Guy #135 confronted me with my shallowness. Regardless, at the onset of our date I set out to become Steve, even if it was just for one night.

As the night progressed I came to realize two things: Guy #135 was what you would call an old soul and he was into me. He was by no means the slutty type, but for some reason he apparently agreed with me our connection was a special one. I knew I was Steve by the time the two of us were sitting on my porch, praising each other’s beauty as Adam and Steve would.

By the time we woke up together Guy #135 had become someone I care for, even after coming.

We met up a few weeks later, when again he visited my island, only this time he spent all nights with me, all three of them. It was on one such night we fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke up in the exact same position precisely eight hours later. We were Adam and Steve alright.

Guy #135 was not one to be jealous, but he did seem at odds with the way I lived my sex life, going from one meaningless hook-up to the next. I tried to talk my way out of it by saying I was always open to the possibility of a commitment, except of course no commitment ever felt worthy enough to forego anonymous sex on a parking lot, among other things. Guy #135 quickly uncovered it was in fact my own lack of self esteem that deemed every connection disposable. Indeed, part of me couldn’t help but feel unworthy of Guy #135.

We hardly kept in touch when he wasn’t on my island. I guess it felt off chatting with such a profoundly moral boyfriend while at the same time Grindring those closer to home. Life went on and it wasn’t until the day after I broke up with Guy #144 that I learned Adam was back in town.

We spent a few nights on a little private beach no one else could come. It was a place from which one could often see shooting stars in the night sky. I don’t remember if the two of us saw one that night, but for the sake of the story: There was weed.
“We go well together,” Guy #135 told me. I knew I wasn’t ready to commit myself to someone, but it felt good to realize a relationship with #135 might actually be a good idea at some point. I remember looking at him and silently agreeing how well we were going together. It was the night I said “I love you”. It was also the last time I ever saw him.

Our last Whatsapp conversation took place a few months after the night of the best sex ever. I had just started 168Guys.com and Guy #135 expressed surprise at my number of sexual experiences. He’d always known there were plenty. He just never realized there were that plenty. He wanted to know his number and what his ‘Sex Score’ would be. I said it would be a 10.

I guess part of me always assumed Guy #135 should maybe hope for another Steve, one with more self esteem and abs to show for it, a Steve less shallow than I am.

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Even though nothing ever materialized between Guy #135 and me, he’s always been a very pleasant memory, someone I enjoy missing from time to time. It’s nice to know there’s at least one person I can be Steve with, or me in my most natural incarnation, shallow as a pond, afraid to swim where my feet can’t touch the ground, yet somehow seaworthy enough for Guy #135.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ±2 years
FORMAT: Wholly non committal highly intermittent relationship
SEX SCORE (0 = Cat videos <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 10

 

Want to read the full story? Click here to start with Guy #1!

Guy #135 – The best sex. Yet.

The last time I had sex with Guy #135 I whispered “I love you” seconds before coming. It felt strange to say the L-word for a change, but above anything else I knew I meant it, even after coming. That almost never happens.

What I loved most about Guy #135 was his wisdom. I’ve never seen him radiate anything but Zen. Though about ten years younger than me, I often felt my own cynicism came off as immature by comparison. Guy #135 was as much a boyfriend as he was a spiritual guide.

On top of that he was also one of the most beautiful Guys I ever met in my life. He looked what you’d expect Adam of Adam and Steve fame to look like, beauty in its most natural incarnation, or doable to the highest degree as I thought the night we met.

His online selfies had been strangely obscure. Had my home been at the center of a lustrous gay life, I might not have even met up with Guy #135. Instead my home was a little tropical paradise. Guy #135 lived an island away and was visiting mine for a week. Not wanting to forego the possibility of sex with a possibly good looking Guy in a place with so few, we met up on his penultimate night there.

I instantly regretted spending the better half of a week not making an effort to set a date, only because his selfies had been so obscure. It would be the first of many times Guy #135 confronted me with my shallowness. Regardless, at the onset of our date I set out to become Steve, even if it was just for one night.

As the night progressed I came to realize two things: Guy #135 was what you would call an old soul and he was into me. He was by no means the slutty type, but for some reason he apparently agreed with me our connection was a special one. I knew I was Steve by the time the two of us were sitting on my porch, praising each other’s beauty as Adam and Steve would.

By the time we woke up together Guy #135 had become someone I care for, even after coming.

We met up a few weeks later, when again he visited my island, only this time he spent all nights with me, all three of them. It was on one such night we fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke up in the exact same position precisely eight hours later. We were Adam and Steve alright.

Guy #135 was not one to be jealous, but he did seem at odds with the way I lived my sex life, going from one meaningless hook-up to the next. I tried to talk my way out of it by saying I was always open to the possibility of a commitment, except of course no commitment ever felt worthy enough to forego anonymous sex on a parking lot, among other things. Guy #135 quickly uncovered it was in fact my own lack of self esteem that deemed every connection disposable. Indeed, part of me couldn’t help but feel unworthy of Guy #135.

We hardly kept in touch when he wasn’t on my island. I guess it felt off chatting with such a profoundly moral boyfriend while at the same time Grindring those closer to home. Life went on and it wasn’t until the day after I broke up with Guy #144 that I learned Adam was back in town.

We spent a few nights on a little private beach no one else could come. It was a place from which one could often see shooting stars in the night sky. I don’t remember if the two of us saw one that night, but for the sake of the story: There was weed.
“We go well together,” Guy #135 told me. I knew I wasn’t ready to commit myself to someone, but it felt good to realize a relationship with #135 might actually be a good idea at some point. I remember looking at him and silently agreeing how well we were going together. It was the night I said “I love you”. It was also the last time I ever saw him.

Our last Whatsapp conversation took place a few months after the night of the best sex ever (up until that point that is). I had just started 168Guys.com and Guy #135 expressed surprise at my number of sexual experiences. He’d always known there were plenty. He just never realized there were that plenty. He wanted to know his number and what his ‘Sex Score’ would be. I said it would be a 10. (It has been for a long time.)

I guess part of me always assumed Guy #135 should maybe hope for another Steve, one with more self esteem and abs to show for it, a Steve less shallow than I am.

Even though nothing ever materialized between Guy #135 and me, he’s always been a very pleasant memory, someone I enjoy missing from time to time. It’s nice to know there’s at least one person I can be Steve with, or me in my most natural incarnation, shallow as a pond, afraid to swim where my feet can’t touch the ground, yet somehow seaworthy enough for Guy #135.

Guy #134 – Shame…

Guy #134 made me realize something.

Car sex is depressing, if not depressingly impractical.

Though I would go on to have pleasurable car sex with Guy #139 a while later, I do believe the idea of car sex sprouted from a lack of options. Sometimes finding a bed to have sex on can be a logistical nightmare. Sometimes a car ends up being the closest thing to a motel room. Sometimes dating is just sad that way.

Guy #134 nor I were capable of hosting a private sex fest. We did discuss the possibility of a motel, but as my date was lamenting his financial situation I realized he was driving toward this one remote parking spot I knew of. Being in a frugal mood as well, I accepted it.

The two of us had sent each other pictures of our naked selves. In anticipation of our date I had imagined us doing the usual fun stuff, like kissing and undressing each other, discovering our nakedness through foreplay. Instead, within seconds of engine shutdown Guy #134 treated me to a hasty French kiss that quickly went south and ended up at third base, where it stayed for the remainder of our date.

While Guy #134 definitely deserves credit for being good at his job, I was mostly occupied with staring out the window, carefully monitoring the movement of distant silhouettes of people and other cars, unable to fully shake the sadness of my situation.

Toward the end of our little parking lot extravaganza I saw two people passing within 50 feet of our car. I could swear one of them was looking straight at me, pushing down Guy #134’s head to make sure it didn’t appear in and out of view all the time.

Guy #139 and I would later have sex in a car at broad daylight and it truly was a little paradise by the dashboard light. Guy #139 was so hot and friendly and handsome and ribbed and on all counts the most beautiful Guy I ever had sex with up till now, I didn’t mind getting caught with him. Guy #134 to me was so much more unremarkable in so many ways the thought of people seeing me with him filled me with shame. It’s not that Guy #134 wasn’t cute. He simply wasn’t special enough for me to take risks for. Preceded by 133 other Guys, a lesbian and a stripper, Guy #134 just didn’t have it in him to excite me the way he might have had he been a two digit number.

Guy #134 and I reached peak shame on our ride home, when post orgasmic sobriety filled the car. I wasn’t raised to get blowjobs from unremarkable strangers in their cars, so I couldn’t help but resent myself a little. One might even say I felt like a cheap whore. I have no idea how Guy #134 postured himself from the moment my pants came back on. All I know is the car was eerily silent and our goodbye as uninspired as our first and only kiss had been.

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Our home being a small Caribbean island, Guy #134 and I ran into each other several times over the next few years. We would always shake hands, but never engage in conversation, not even when we turned out to have mutual friends and at one point even a mutual ex. My guess is Guy #134 had felt my shame as well. It had made our date awkward and unrewarding and it had consumed our entire relationship.

Shame.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 years
FORMAT: One time car date followed by occasional obligatory handshake
SEX SCORE (0 = A Sigmund Freud action figure <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3