Sex – Page 3

Guy #133 – On the beach…

When you live on a tropical island and use Grindr to meet up with Guys, it’s all but impossible to avoid having sex on a beach at some point.

Beaches can get dark and quiet at night.
So when Guy #133 and I met up at his hotel lobby, we went out for a walk and soon found ourselves at a small lagoon with a view of distant cruise ships decorating the horizon and the ocean oozing our date like a Norah Jones album.

I don’t remember much about Guy #133. He was a shoe salesman, only the type of shoes he sold went for $2000 a pair. He showed me pictures of shoes covered in diamonds. I imagined he must have sold many shoes to Hollywood stars, but he told me most of his customers were “hoodies” wanting to add some bling to their wardrobe, so I quipped Guy #133 was a bit like Al Bundy. He had no idea who or what Al Bundy was, though he did later proclaim himself a fan of Modern Family.

In short, Guy #133 and I had nothing in common. I was a 90s kid. He was whatever they call kids who didn’t grow up to the tune of a dial-up modem.

Our conversation was pleasant, but equally meaningless. I was scanning my half of the horizon to see if the coast was clear. He was doing his part.

Sure enough, the more I learned about life as a shoe salesman, the more isolated we became, until it was just us and the sea.

Usually I don’t enjoy the risk of getting caught, but this time the scenery was so lovely I deemed it completely in my right as a human being to enjoy nature the way it was intended, all the way to third base.

In hopes of covering all bases I brought Guy #133 to my place, where the absence of nature dissolved what little common ground we had into a lame hand job. Worse yet, when I dropped my date off at his hotel later, my car broke down. Not wanting to hear another word about shoes I assured Guy #133 I was in complete control of my vehicle. The two of us waved each other goodbye through a cloud of smoke that sprouted from my car’s radiator as I popped the hood. The hesitation with which Guy #133 walked away suggested he felt obliged to stick out my car trouble with me. I however insisted he’d leave. We had gone from blowjobs in the Garden of Eden to discussing shoes in my bedroom to resuscitating a 1982 Mazda on a Hilton parking lot. It was clear to me Guy #133 and I had no future to speak of.

It must have been about 3 AM, hours away from the nearest tow truck. It would take the better half of a day and about $100 to get possession of a working car again, all of it because I so much wanted to do a Guy who spoke of shoes on a beach, someone who didn’t even get my Al Bundy joke.

I should not have transposed our date from the beach to my bedroom. I was fine talking about shoes at a lagoon. Most Guys could probably spice up Keynesian economics there. Our date was great as long as we had the beach to remind ourselves how awesome it would be to have sex there. It did not imply the sex would be awesome elsewhere.

Guy #133 flew back to his home country a few days later. I could tell, because he had disappeared from Grindr. I realized I would have no way of ever getting back in touch with him again, for one very simple reason: I had already forgotten his name.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Overvalidated sex date
SEC SCORE (0 = A date with Al Bundy <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.8

Guy #132 – The marine.

A question I get asked on a daily basis is whether I’m top or bottom. At times it’s the first thing that comes up in conversation.

I’m sure some kind of Kindsey-scale could be attributed to the top-bottom continuum, but the truth is it’s impossible to predict who ends up on top. It all depends on who you’re with.

Guy #132 was with the navy.

He looked the part.

Guy #132 radiated a boyish manliness that, combined with his perky smile, made you wonder how they managed to even keep Don’t ask don’t tell going for that long.

Being a marine, my date had seen places, things, events even. He was the kind of Guy you’d want to be with when your car breaks down in the middle of the desert. In porn, he would have been the John McTame to my Nakatomi building. He had this sturdy clumsiness about him that befitted a Guy harvesting a primitive sex drive, someone who could let himself be owned by his own instinct.

One could say I dug Guy #132’s sexual energy as he offered me a glass of water. He wasn’t even that attractive. He didn’t need to be, which somehow made him even more attractive. We engaged in one of those conversations we both knew was only a formality standing in between us and the bedroom and I was comfortable in the knowledge he would take charge and be the first to put away his drink to kiss me.

He did, which made it all the more surprising he quickly turned out to be a total bottom.

It’s not that I don’t know what to do with the body of a marine, but part of me couldn’t shake the thought You’re a soldier. Conquer me!

It was hardly a punishment to own a marine for a night, but I did feel like the sex hadn’t lived up to its image.

We met up on two occasions. On our second date he withheld the formalities altogether and went straight to sex. He knew exactly what he wanted, how he wanted it and what he needed to do to get it. It had this manly pragmatism to it that empowered enough potential to own a harem, yet again, when push came to shove, I had to push.

Seeing that much surrender embedded in the sexuality of this army person it was comforting to know Don’t ask don’t tell isn’t a thing anymore. In that sense I can proudly argue I did my part making my country combat ready. Twice. On two occasions.

I lost interest in Guy #132 the moment he brought up the subject of fisting. I guess I’m not that much of a patriot.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 90 minutes
FORMAT: Sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Patriotism <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #131 – The ring beard…

Blessed with everything but a plan or even the slightest idea of what I wanted to do with my life, I moved to the island of Curaçao in October of 2013.

For a few years I lived in this tiny country, cocooned from the outside world by its climate, the beaches, the rum, the air conditioning and the fact I was one of only a few white Guys on Grindr.

On the downside, I was also one of the few Guys actually on Curaçao. On bad days the bottom 50 Guys appearing on my Grindr screen were literally an ocean away from me, stuck in Venezuela or Colombia.

With a population of just 150,000 people, Curaçao had no gay life to speak of. It was friendly to gays, but by no means hospitable, or facilitating for that matter.

Discouraged by the lack of doable Guys in my vicinity I decided to be polite when Guy #131 hit me up online, saying he liked my selfies. I didn’t consider it much of a compliment. In this corner of the Earth I was one of the few online people who even had selfies.

Still, it was nice talking to a gay Guy again. That hadn’t happened in weeks. Guy #131’s job consisted of writing copy for gay porn sites. It struck me as the easiest job in the world, getting paid to write about sex. When I shifted through some of the sites Guy #131 referred me to I was appalled by the number of mistakes and errors there were to be found in his copywriting efforts. I instantly knew I would be so much better at this job than Guy #131 was.

So I accepted Guy #131’s invitation for drinks at his place, hoping to learn how one can get paid writing about sex. It was more of a mission than a date, one that did not start off well: I had just parked my car and slammed the door when I realized my keys were still inside. My car, much like my date, was kind of old. Its lack of electrical windows allowed Guy #131, his landlord and his landlord’s friend to pry one open far enough to get my keys back. It had taken them a good 15 minutes.

Relieved as I was to know I still had a working car at my disposal, it came with a price, namely my diminished amount of self worth: Here I was, in a strange country, where I knew absolutely no one and my first date had to witness me being completely incompetent by locking myself out of my car.

My intention had been to seduce Guy #131 up to the point he would tell me how to get paid writing about stuff people do in gay porn. I had anticipated my charm to be enough to sway him, but our little paradise by the dashboard light had killed my mojo.

Once inside Guy #131 showed me more of his work as he spoke about working in the porn industry. From what I gathered all he ever did was write captions for porn videos. And they were awful. So I asked how one becomes a writer in porn, but no matter how I phrased it, I never got a clear answer. Instead he showed me some more porn videos and started touching me. Determined to get my first job as a paid writer I kissed him when he tried to.

It was in that moment I realized his ring beard was all the hair he had. It’s not that I hadn’t seen his baldness before. I just hadn’t registered it as such. Now that he was about to do a porn routine on me I could only think Guy #131 was kind of weird looking with that silly ring beard, not unattractive, but too weird to be pretty regardless.

There are one or two wholly painless sexual positions where one person can be completely passive. Those were the positions I attained as Guy #131 went down on me. It was the kind of sex where I wished for a magazine to make the time pass quicker.

Afterward, he turned off the porn and started inquiring about my life. I told him about this blog I maintained at the time and how it got over a 100 views on a good day. Even before our date was over I knew I would always regret letting a ring beard this outlandishly peculiar go to second base without giving me a single clue about living off the internet first.

I continued my inquiry for good manner, but in the end all he told me was that someone had asked him to do this job. Basically, Guy #131 got to give oral in exchange for telling me he owed his job to one of the 7 billion people on this planet.

I did end up thanking Guy #131 for helping me out with my car key earlier. Leaving had indeed become my top priority as our date progressed. He contacted me a few times afterward, but I pretended to be one of 7 billion people.

My reason for going on a date with Guy #131 was to get information. I was armed with my charm and well received selfies. Guy #131 met up with me to get laid. He was armed with information.

Even as one of the few white Guys in a little tropical paradise, I suck at playing the game sometimes.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Drinks with sex involved somehow
SEX SCORE (0 = Being stared at by an octopus <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2,5

Guy #130 – The Lay After…

My mother and I never spoke much about my private life, though I did manage to reveal bits and pieces of it through our common, often morbid sense of humor. A few weeks before she died I granted her permission to come haunt me whenever she wanted, except for the times I would be having sex with people. My mother promised to honor our agreement.

I was willing to date my grief away shortly before my mother’s passing. It logically followed I went on Grindr a good two weeks after her funeral. The rush of organizing a memorial service was still fresh on my mind, but other than that my life had reached the calm after the storm, if ever there were such a thing.

Guy #130 was a flight attendant who spent half his life in fancy hotels. It was in one such hotel we sat down for coffee. Our Grindr conversation had been about sizes, positions and liquids, but our lobby talk ventured into the personal. I realized my date was deciding whether or not he would take me up to his room. Given the peculiarity of my situation I decided to for once not aim for sex and instead just be myself.

So I told Guy #130 I had buried my mother two weeks earlier. Fortunately, this flight attendant had way more than just a Pan Am-smile. Sometimes telling a stranger about your life is liberating, even more so if that stranger turns out to be a good bottom afterward.

Whatever emotions I had stacked up inside of me, Guy #130 offered me a lengthy release from my worries, but perhaps my favorite moment of our date had transpired before the sex, when Guy #130 suggested we’d go for a drink in his room. The effort to be myself had been such a conscious one it came as a relief to find out it was to be rewarded with sex.
Not only that, Guy #130 didn’t treat sex as he might have chicken or fish: He took me out to dinner afterward and let me spend the night with him. It was a sex date, sure, but I was given the First Class treatment, and again when I met up with Guy #130 about six months later.

What I enjoyed about our dates the most was the total lack of complexity. In terms of getting high, the sex allowed me to enjoy the wonder of flight without any crying babies to kill my moment of Zen.

It would seem my mother honored our agreement.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x one night and morning after
FORMAT: Caring sex dates
SEX SCORE (0 = Those crying babies on an airplane <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.4

Guys #125, #126, #127, #128 and #129 – Floating…

Baggage.

We all carry it.
And like drug mules bluffing their way through customs, we all lie about what we carry.

It’s not that we have anything necessarily worth hiding, but baggage just happens to be a dish served best in installments. We all carry a vast collection of issues small and big, most of which we hide regardless of how naked we get.
Yet while we aim to hide our baggage from those we position to pass judgment over it, we reach out to people for the very purpose of having them lighten up our load. The phrase get your load off has way more levels than most Guys are willing to admit, because baggage.

In terms of baggage I didn’t reveal, Guys #125 through #129 all had sex with me in the weeks leading up to my mother’s death.

As women with ovarian cancer so often do, they die. My mother was no exception. She spent her last month in a hospital bed in her living room, surrounded by loved ones such as myself, her weakness overpowering her strength bit by bit, day by day, until her final day, when she told me:

I don’t want to live. I don’t want to die. I just want to float.

Looking back I realize I followed a similar philosophy with the Guys I dated in those weeks. It’s natural for parents to die before their children do. It’s natural for parents to be with their children when they die. And I guess it’s natural to want to float when the air of death quite literally fills the room like a cancer.

So I went online, looking for Guys to float with.

I must have told my mother I was going out for a walk, when in reality I went out to meet Guy #125 in his car on a parking lot, where we exchanged oral for a good ten minutes. He had no knowledge of my baggage, nor did I inquire about his. We were just two complete strangers wanting to float for two completely different reasons.
God knows why I agreed to have sex in a car. I hate having sex in cars and I wasn’t even that much into Guy #125. He was simply the most available Guy within walking distance. With Guy #125 I drowned more than I floated.
It felt good to leave him behind and get back to taking care of my mother.

I met Guy #126 on another one of my ‘walks’. It was at his place. To his credit, he got me to climax three times in a row just by using his mouth, a feat unsurpassed by any other Guy since. One could argue he got me floating three times, if ever so briefly.
Apparently my mournful self had gotten Guy #126 to float too somehow, as he kept asking me to come over another time. Before I had met Guy #126 I had been okay with leaving my mother’s side to explore the possibilities a stranger offered. Now that I knew exactly what he had to give me I couldn’t bring myself to favor him over my mother a second time.

Guy #127 and #128 I ran into in a sauna, where we had sex that cuddled its way into a conversation. Guy #127 studied something, Guy #128 had a job at the airport. I evaded talking about myself altogether. Blowjobs can do that.

I actually ran into Guy #127 a little over a month later, after my mother had passed. He was excited to see me, but despite his raging cuteness I felt incapable of giving him any more attention. In the time between our two encounters he no doubt studied some more, whereas I had buried my mother. It wasn’t the kind of baggage I could ask a faint acquaintance such as Guy #127 to carry, nor was it the kind I was comfortable sharing. Some loads are just too heavy to be carried by strangers, no matter how good their blowjobs are.

Guy #129 would go down in history as the last Guy I ever had sex with before my mother died. He was a physiotherapist whose massages were unexpectedly disappointing. The sex itself was moderately okay, were it not for the fact my mind was constantly split between two places: The here and now, which consisted of Guy #129 and me going it at like rabbits, and the there and now, which consisted of my mother fighting a battle not even God could win.
During sex and before the massage I may have floated a little, but my baggage no doubt weighed me down considerably.

Guy #129 was kind enough to let me spend the night at his place. Sadly though, he only had one pair of sheets barely big enough to cover his own body, let alone mine. I spent the night under a tiny blanket that felt more like a towel, shivering and thinking about all the times my mother inquired about my love life, all the times she expressed her wish for me to find someone to be happy with, someone to live, die and float with. Shivering my way through the night I couldn’t help but feel I had disappointed her somehow.

There was another Guy, someone who could have been #130. We agreed to meet up on a Thursday, but on the morning of our date my mother told me: “I don’t want to live. I don’t want to die. I just want to float.”
So instead of venturing out on yet another sexual conquest me and my family gathered to say one final goodbye to my mother. I told my date-to-be I couldn’t make it because I had a “family thing I really needed to be at”, quite possibly the whitest lie I ever told anyone.
I never contacted this Guy again, nor did he contact me. I can only imagine he too had baggage he didn’t feel like sharing.

These days I still see Guy #125 on Grindr every so often, always less than a mile away from me. Occasionally I ignore Guy #126 when we pass each other at the local train station and Guy #127 recently dug my pictures on Tinder, though no conversation will ever sprout from any of it: There’s too much baggage for casual sex and too much sex for casual baggage. Blowjobs can do that.

I quietly assume Guys #125 through #129 were in it for the floating as much as I was, albeit it for completely different and forever unknown reasons. Dates are exciting because of what we don’t say to each other and sex, by its very nature, is both the best and the worst way to lighten up our load.

The ferryman

Oh, the traveler moving on the land, behold I give you, I give you the traveling man
And he’s very heavy laden with the questions in his burden
Lo, and I give you the traveling man
He has crossed the mountains, he has forded streams
He has spent a long time surviving on his dreams
Many times he’s tried to lighten up his heavy load
But his compromises fail him and he ends back on the road

Oh the traveler he is weary, the traveling man he is tired.
For the road is never ending. In his fear he has cried aloud for a savior
And in vain for a teacher, someone to lighten up the load
And he’s heard the sounds of war in a gentle shower of rain
And the whisperings of despair that he could not explain
The reason for his journey, or the reason it began
Or was there any reason for the traveling man

At last he reached a river so beautiful and wide
But the current was so strong he could not reach the other side
And the weary traveling man looked for a ferryman, strong enough to row against the tide
And the ferryman was old but he moved the boat so well
Or did the river move the boat? The traveler could not tell
Said the ferryman: “You’re weary and the answers that you seek
Are in the singing river, listen humbly it will speak.”

Oh, the traveler closed his eyes and he listened and he heard
Only the river murmuring and the beating of his heart
Then he heard the river laughing, and he heard the river crying
And in it was the beauty and the sadness of the world
And he heard the sounds of dying, but he heard the sounds of birth
And slowly his ears heard all the sounds of earth
The sounds blended together and they became a whole
And the rhythm was his heartbeat to the music in his soul

Relationship summaries:

Guy #125
LENGTH: A good 10 minutes
FORMAT: Car park fondlefest
SEX SCORE (0 = Lifetime movies <–>10 = The best sex ever): 3

Guy #126
LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Lifetime movies about cancer <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #127
LENGTH: 1 hour + 2 minute conversation a month later
FORMAT: Sex date + awkward meet-up
SEX SCORE (0 = Lifetime movies about cancer where the hero lives <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #128
LENGTH: 30 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Lifetime movies about cancer where the hero dies <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #129
LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One-night stand
SEX SCORE (0 = “The Fault in Our Stars” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #123 – The reason I’m on Grindr…

These days it says the following on my Grindr profile:

I will have sex with you if you can tell me what happened ‘before’ the Big Bang.

It’s an easy promise. Not even Stephen Hawking knows the answer, but it’s a nice invitation for Guys to get intellectual with me. I still judge people by their selfies, but I ache to be turned on by their brains.

Although the first I ever saw of Guy #123 was a picture of him in a swimsuit, he wasn’t the kind of underwear model I had come online for. Still, we somehow became engaged in an exciting conversation.

It happens sometimes. You start talking to someone, an actual dialogue erupts and it’s just nice to let it run its course. Sometimes the conversation dissolves almost the moment it started and sometimes you go from discussing youth traumas to cosmic inflation to Bach to trashing the Lord of the Rings-franchise to being invited over for dinner at his place.

Despite the absence of any sexual chemistry I found Guy #123 interesting enough to get to know in person. I had made it clear I had no sexual interest in him, which he was totally fine with.

Yet we soon ended up doing more than just having dinner and talking about each other’s lives. We’d spend entire nights watching The Lord of the Rings, after which Guy #123 admitted it indeed made no sense Frodo wouldn’t use those eagles from the get go. Or we’d lie on a couch and listen to music together. It’s difficult not to establish connection when you feel someone’s heartbeat to the tune of Beethoven’s 5^th Piano Concerto.

Our fourth meet-up as friends was a bit of a goodbye. I was to go abroad for a while and wasn’t sure when I would be seeing Guy #123 again. He had become a dear friend I would miss.
So what started off as an innocent backrub quickly turned me on somehow, and since I was the one doing the rubbing I considered it an excellent opportunity to show some initiative. The kissing soon followed. The bed is where things ended.

It was unexpectedly great to have sex with Guy #123. I had reached a point where I could no longer relate to my previous self, who had rejected him over a photo.

Afterward, Guy #123 told me he he’d always known we would end up having sex at some point. The only thing he had to do to make it happen was not tell me. His brain had figured that out.

I’m not on Grindr to find sex. I’m not on there to find relationships. I’m certainly not on there to forge anything platonic. I’m on Grindr to find Guys like Guy #123, Guys who can give me the intimacy of a relationship with the commitment of a friendship, Guys who know my weaknesses well enough to understand I’m not the type to maintain a serious commitment, Guys who know my strengths to appreciate how much I have to give if they just let me, Guys who can even use the word ‘love’ without it having to define a relationship, Guys who get that relationships define themselves, Guys I can cuddle up with, cook for, sleep with and wake up next to.

Actually, Guy #123 and I only woke up together on a handful of occasions. Like most people with a good working brain he was a very sensitive person. Oftentimes I’d meet him while he was busy being hopelessly in love with someone he couldn’t be with, making it difficult for him to get truly intimate with someone.

I’m the type of person who looks for intimacy everywhere when I’m hopelessly in love. Guy #123 was the kind who’d deprive himself of it. Still, we often met on the middle ground and exchanged a lot of hugs there. One could argue it was in one of those hugs that Guy #123 inspired me to start writing.

His brains have proven to be an enormous turn on for me.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Loving friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = Anything Gollum <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Guy #122 – The spoiled brat…

Like most men never subjected to radiation poisoning I have hair growing out of my body at various places. While I make the effort to keep my chest Bieberesque by shaving it regularly, sometimes a single hair dodges my razor blade and remains sticking out of my body, as desolate as a man standing in the Sahara.

Guy #122 didn’t like chest hair either. That much became apparent when he noticed that one hair a few inches south of my right nipple. Even though we had been engaged in doing naked stuff for a good half hour already, Guy #122 stopped what he was doing and shifted all his attention to that one single bit of hair.

“Can you shave it off?” Guy #122 asked.
“No, I’m having sex,” I said.
It’s not like that one little hair got in the way of anything, but Guy #122 insisted. Again I refused to shave myself, proud as I was to stand up for myself for a change.

That’s when my date proceeded by trying to pull my hair out of my chest. The pain was intense and came without warning. I half heartedly yelled at Guy #122 and scolded him for hurting me, while at the same time laughing about how ridiculous sex with strangers can be sometimes.

The laughter stopped when Guy #122 pulled on my hair again, once again sending shock waves through my entire body. It was the first and to date only time I’ve ever been furious at someone during sex.

At the same time I had been enjoying the sex with this Guy. He was cute and good at it. I didn’t want the sex to stop because of that one tiny hair. Yet much to my surprise and anger Guy #122 kept making attempts at pulling it out. Thankfully I managed to stop him each time he tried, but my defenses came at the expense of my libido. After his fourth or fifth attempt I was so pissed off I turned Guy #122 on his stomach and had my way with him. He seemed to enjoy it, which pissed me off even more. I couldn’t stand being with someone so spoiled, so determined to get his way, so used to getting his way.

Putting on a T-shirt was my first act of business after I was done teaching Guy #122 a lesson. Finally, me and my hair were safe from the clutches of this spoiled maniac who now wanted to cuddle up with me. I however wanted him gone, out of my house, preferably out of my solar system.

Guy #122 hit me up online a few days later. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact our date had angered me to no end. We may have sent a few messages back and forth, but it wasn’t long before I ghosted him. I simply couldn’t stand someone as spoiled as Guy #122.

He would hit me up again many, many times over the course of the next year or so, until eventually I blocked him. Just looking at his picture reminded me of his claws, obsessively trying to pull out that one tiny hair of mine.

I doubt Guy #122 ever realized what the reason for my rejection was. He probably confused my anger for lust, while the lust had merely been a disguise for my anger. Still, I feel good about not giving him his way. He needed it badly.

I do pay more attention to lone hairs sticking out of my chest these days. In that sense I’m giving Guy #122 exactly what he wanted.

Damn, he’s irritating.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = “Quid Quo Pro, doctor” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #121 – The dorminant one…

Dominance.

When it comes to sex, some people like to dominate. Others like to be dominated.

Guy #121 was dominant. He said so many times. He first made mention of it in our online conversation. He brought it up again over coffee. When we were at his place he once again asked if I was okay with him being so dominant.

Granted, Guy #121 pulled my hair a bit during sex and held down my arms for good measure. Not wanting to shatter his image, I was kind enough not to move my arms as he put on his condom.

The truth is Guy #121 was about as dominant as Pinocchio was a real boy. It didn’t help that I was about a foot taller, a difference that was reflected in our respective dick sizes as well. Him dominating me made about as much sense as David asking Goliath out for a date.

In short, Guy #121 was an adorable little Asian boy who wanted to be the Terminator. I granted him the illusion for a good five minutes, after which he cuddled up against me and remained in ‘dorminant-mode’ for the remainder of the evening.

The two of us met up on two occasions. Coffee tasted good in the company of Guy #121. He was smart-ish and sensitive. I empathized with him and his latte as he spoke of missing his home country. The way his lips stuck to the warm carton of his Starbucks cup suggested he had been deprived of labial action for quite some time. Guy #121 was like many of the Asian immigrants I dated: Lonely, shy and with a pinch of social awkwardness thrown in.

It was only during sex that Guy #121 let go of his inhibitions. I don’t think I’ve ever been dominated by anyone clumsier than him, but I did enjoy letting him believe he was in control of me. Sometimes accepting awkwardness is the only gift we have to give to someone.

A third date never happened. Guy #121 would visit my online dating profile every so often, but he never hit me up again, nor did I take note of his digital footprints.
I guess we both felt the sex had been an oddity of sorts, like Pinocchio getting tested for STD’s. There was nothing inherently wrong about the two of us having sex, but it was difficult to take it seriously.

I will never know whatever made Guy #121 think he was a dominant Guy. Well, except that maybe it was me who made him think that, me and perhaps all the other Guys who were patient enough not to move their hands whenever he struggled to put on a condom.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 x 2 hours
FORMAT: Coffee and sex
SEX SCORE (0 = A date with Goliath <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

Guy #118 – Dating alone together…

Sex is like food. Whether it’s caviar, a Happy Meal or anything in between, sex is something to look forward to. But unless it’s masturbation sex is not a dish you eat alone. Eating together can be very rewarding, provided both parties can agree on what’s for dinner.

Guy #118 and I had met online, where he had pictures of him wearing leather outfits for the world to see. Leather ain’t my thing, but it lets me know when a Guy is aching for sex and nothing but sex. So when I met Guy #118 at his place he took me to his bedroom, sat me down on his bed, offered me an obligatory glass of water which I refused and then proceeded to let me have his way with him.

At the time I mostly had sex to avoid thinking about being a telemarketer without any goals to speak of. I avoided conversations about my life the way Stephen Hawking avoids escalators. After all, I wasn’t living. I was telemarketing, the last thing anyone would want to think of during sex.

So when Guy #118 hit me up a few weeks later I was all too happy to meet up with him once more and forget about living for a short while, except this time Guy #118 suggested we’d meet up for a drink first.

That ticked me off somewhat. I’m not keen on spending money on drinks if it’s sex I’m after, not in the least because I don’t enjoy having to scream over loud music in aid of keeping a conversation going with someone I only want to get inside of. Still, Guy #118 being very cute I deemed it an acceptable investment.

Naturally, Guy #118 asked me about my life as we were having drinks. I complained about being a telemarketer whilst trying to maintain a sense of pride befitting the top I was to him. It was difficult to keep that up, especially when Guy #118 wanted another round of drinks. Small talk has a tendency to become torture after a while, especially in the case of Guy #118, who himself had little to say.
“Shall we go to your place?” I asked after he finally finished his second drink. It wasn’t subtle, but then again, the only reason our paths had ever crossed was because the internet had pictures of him wearing leather. Subtlety was never supposed to be part of our relationship.
“Yeah, about that…” Guy #118 replied as my heart sank.
My date went on to explain his housemate was also home that night, meaning we couldn’t exactly have sex there.
I did not stick around for a third drink, instead going home, sexually frustrated like a rabbit in a cage full of mice.

Looking back, I don’t remember what on Earth convinced me to meet up with Guy #118 a third time. Once again he had asked to meet up for a drink. I guess I really wanted to believe Guy #118 was in it for the sex.
What struck me about our third date was how much attention Guy #118 had paid during our second. He remembered everything I had told him about myself. I on the other hand had totally forgotten what his job was, what part of Asia he was from, or what his name was.

Guy #118 wanted to be friends. I wanted to not think about telemarketing. He wanted a McCaviar. I wanted to eat my misery away.

A fourth date never materialized.

A few months ago Guy #118 got back in touch with me. He wanted to meet up again, only this time he suggested we’d get together and have fun on XTC and roofies. I guess he’d given up on friendship and gotten back to being his leather self again.

It’s not that I have anything against drugs, but I don’t think Guy #118 and I were ever meant to be on the same page together.

Like I said: A fourth date never materialized.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ±2 months
FORMAT: Sex date followed by failed attempt at friendship followed by failed attempt at sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Telemarketing <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.7

Guy #113 – The one I told my mother about…

My mother and I never talked about my love life. We maintained a silently agreed upon don’t ask don’t tell policy, which meant I ran off every time the subject of love and sex appeared on the horizon.

Guy #113 would go down in history as the only Guy I ever told my mother about:
“Mom, I may have met someone who I guess you could maybe call my boyfriend,” I said one day, after which my mother gave me a nice warm hug and told me she was very happy for me. She looked relieved, possibly because the last time she saw her son find love was when I was dating Girl #1, some six years prior.

A few days after informing my mother of the wonderful news, Guy #113 broke up with me. I never told my mother. Rather I stopped mentioning my boyfriend, until she quietly understood he was not to be brought up in conversation ever again.

Guy #113 had been a nice surprise. We dated each other for a few weeks during the 2012 holiday season. Our first date consisted of a conversation that lasted twice as long as it felt. On our second date we just got high and ended up in bed together.
The two of us had a lot in common, our sense of humor, the way we looked at things and people and the fact we both agreed Annafrid was the better ABBA singer.

Yet even though our personalities matched, our lives didn’t. Guy #113 had a successful career, a nice Amsterdam apartment and his life was in order. I on the other hand was a struggling telemarketer that lived with his mother, incapable of planning more than a few days ahead.

Having never had a serious relationship with someone I never gave much thought to the concept. To me relationships were like Ebola: It only happened to other people. I had heard some Oprahesque clichés about getting your own stuff in order before committing to anyone or anything, but I had been so busy exploring my sexuality I neglected Oprah for the glory of my libido. I never even thought of committing myself to Guy #113. It was just good fun to experience true intimacy with someone for a change, to experience a relationship that didn’t end by putting my clothes back on.

What I considered a relationship probably was more of an escape. When I was with Guy #113 I didn’t have to think about telemarketing, what to do with my life or how to deal with my mother’s baldness. What I did focus on was how nice it was to wake up next to someone who’d make me breakfast in exchange for oral. Commitmentwise, that was as close as I’d ever gotten with someone.

Guy #113 had goals based on life. I had goals based on a lack thereof. A few weeks into our relationship he sat me down and told me things would not be working out between us. It hurt a little, but mostly because I knew my libido had to search for breakfast elsewhere. When Guy #113 broke up with me, I couldn’t help but agree with him. In fact, my primary concern was that I had just told my mother about him.

The word relationship can have many definitions. To me Guy #113 became a relationship the moment my mother learned of his existence. I suppose it´s safe to say Guy #113 didn’t use his mother as a measure of intimacy.

Of course Guy #113 agreed to remain friends and of course this friendship bled out faster than you can say Grindr.

I guess love, much like my mother´s cancer, struck a few years ahead of its time.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: Going steady but not that steady
SEX SCORE (0 = Making out with a stormtrooper <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #111 – Downton Shabby.

Guy #111 lived in with his landlord, an 84 four year old friend who had somewhere else to be that night.
The house was what you’d expect from someone old enough to dislike Germans for a reason. I found myself on the set of Downton Abbey with one of the cuter looking footmen as my only company.

While it was beyond obvious Guy #111 and I would end up having sex, we postponed it for a good half hour by means of conversation. His landlord came up a lot. Guy #111 was about my age and it struck me as odd an 84 year old landlord would play such an important role in his life.

It’s not that I have anything against old people, but I don’t look for them on Grindr, the same way I don’t watch Youtube for the ads. But from what I could tell Guy #111 and his landlord did all sorts of friend stuff together. It did not occur to me once his landlord was also his boyfriend.
Like most people, I skip the ads whenever possible.

I remember it being somewhat of a turnoff whenever Guy #111 mentioned his 84 year old friend. The main reason I initiated foreplay was to get my footman to stop talking.

We ended up in his bedroom soon after the talking stopped.

For the first twenty minutes or so I was well on my way to making the sex yet another slightly above average satisfying memory, until the bedroom door opened and man a walked in, an old man, like an 84 year old landlord. I grabbed hold of the nearest sheets to cover myself and then I noticed: Guy #111 did not try to hide his nakedness. He did not feel caught.
“This is Lennard,” Guy #111 said casually, after which his very old friend stepped forward and extended his hand. I actually shook it, even though by that time I had already figured out how Guy #111 paid the rent.

Guy #111 was a recruiter, sent out by his landlord to scour the land for fresh meat. I realized I was tonight’s special the moment the old and wrinkled landlord did not let go of my hand, as he smiled at me like a kid waking up in a candy store.

It agonizes me when Youtube shoves a 20 second toothbrush commercial down my throat. Likewise, it pissed me off Guy#111 and his sugarpope had orchestrated this little get together. I understand it’s difficult to find fresh meat at 84, but trickery is never the answer. It’s just not sexy, not even on wizards.

To their credit, Guy #111 and his boyfriend were quick to gauge my reaction and didn’t press me into a threesome from which I would never recover. The old man politely greeted me before he left the room again, leaving me with Guy #111 and the thought that somewhere in the house there was an 84 year old man who had seen my penis.
“So your landlord is gay then?” I asked.
Guy #111 explained his landlord had been in the closet for most of his life and that he enjoyed having a young gay man living in his house. I didn’t ask any further, but quietly assumed Guy #111 let his landlord crash all of his dates and wondered if seeing a penis was considered a success in their eyes, or if the landlord had hoped to get in on the fun.

After Guy #111 and I were done I very much wanted to go home. I was offered to spend the night, but the house had become spooky to me, knowing it had an old man wandering around at night, walking in on people having sex. It did not sit well with me how Guy #111 and his boyfriend had manipulated me. It had this The call is coming from inside the house-vibe to it.

When I was clothed and ready to go I carefully navigated myself to the front door, constantly ready for something unexpected, the hand of an 84 year old man, the smell of chloroform, anything. I didn’t run into anyone when Guy #111 showed me out. Yet it wasn’t until I was out on the street that I felt relief.

My footman hit me up online a couple of times afterward. Each time he did I was reminded of his haunted house where old men look at penises.

Ghosting never felt more appropriate as it did in the case of Guy #111.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date with a pinch of gerontophilia
SEX SCORE (0 = The Germans <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3

Guy #110 – The Oscar to my Elmo…

Sometimes life gives you lemons. Lemonwise, 2012 was not a great year for me. My mother was undergoing treatment for ovarian cancer, my brain still went sour at the thought of Guy #96 and I had to work as a telemarketer to make ends meet. Dating at the time was an escape.

The same was probably true for Guy #110. His mother had recently died from a brain tumor and his father was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Eating lemons was all we talked about on our first date.

Our first date took place at Guy #110’s apartment. He had made me dinner, the dessert of which was us making out on his couch. It was a make-out session during which we talked about the horror of having to see your parents lose their strength in front of your very eyes, the way life can wreak havoc on what you wanted life to be and how telemarketing has got to be the leading cause of suicide, because nothing kills you more than having to sell your soul over the phone 40 hours a week when one of your parents is fighting death itself. Sometimes it’s nice to dwell on the negative, to be with someone who doesn’t go into Oprah-mode the moment you say life sucks. Our first date was very romantic indeed.

We traded underwear on our second date.
Apparently underwear trade signifies the start of a commitment in the gay scene, at least it did to Guy #110. The last Guy to have ever worn my underwear had been Guy #8 and he turned out to be a possessive stalker, so I can’t see I felt totally at ease in my new wardrobe.

I guess what I liked most about Guy #110 was the fact his life was more messed up than mine. He was the Oscar to my Elmo.

It was around the time Guy #110 put on my underwear I realized human misery was what connected us more than anything else. On our third date I remembered why we had hooked up in the first place: To sugarcoat our lemons. Guy #110 was friendly, warmhearted and funny enough to at least laugh at my jokes, but he wasn’t a fruit of his own kind.

After our third date he told me he was looking forward to our fourth. I said I’d send him a message on Facebook to initiate it, but then somehow ended up never doing it, and he somehow never reminded me.
My guess is Guy #110 was a bit offended, but that he was used to being let down in life. I imagine he regretted ever giving me his underwear, but that it was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

I did feel a bit guilty over quietly forgetting about Guy #110, believing I had added another pinch of misery to his life.

I guess grief doesn’t make for great relationships.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: 3 romantic dates that led nowhere
SEX SCORE (0 = Sequels <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.8

Guy #109 – That time STD’s were sexy…

Common as they are, no one particularly enjoys talking about STD’s. The human body is an ecosystem of countless miniscule organisms, but it’s the few that make you die or feel like you’ll die peeing that hardly come up in conversation. The reason is simple: STD’s cover our body in icky shame.

So when Guy #109 came over for an evening of sex it came as a surprise when he told me his hot body had hepatitis.

I quickly realized Guy #109 had to go through life broadcasting this disclaimer each and every time he encountered someone he wanted to have sex with. Or rather, he chose to be honest.

Honesty to me is hotter than STD’s are icky, so Guy #109 telling me his liver was at constant risk of succumbing to the dark side immediately turned me on. I also empathized with him, imagining what it must be like to hold off on foreplay with a chat on infectious disease all the time. I’d probably feel like a waiter handing out a roll of toilet paper in lieu of a menu. We don’t like to talk about STD’s because we fear it will ruin our appetite.

Yet when Guy #109 opened up about his hepatitis he became more human than his hot body had previously suggested. I told him I had no trouble having sex with him and his liver provided I couldn’t see the latter from the outside.

That’s when it became apparent how disastrously poorly educated I was.

Unlike HIV I had always ranked hepatitis as one of the more forgettable Bond villains. I knew one could get shots to prevent getting hepatitis and always figured there’d come a day I would. Until Guy #109 told me I never knew how contagious hepatitis really is, or how lucky I’d been never to have gotten it.

Guy #109 told me we couldn’t have the sex we had both anticipated, at least not until I arranged for myself to get vaccinated.
What we could do was get naked together and tease the living daylights out of each other, which is what we did on a number of occasions over the next few months.

It was actually kind of hot to be with Guy #109 and not do what we wanted to do. It allowed us to get to know each other in a way we would never have known each other had sex been on the menu from the get go. When I finally was protected against hepatitis the sex between the two of us was cathartic, which it has been pretty much every time we hooked up since.

Every few weeks or so, Guy #109 and I would get together, cuddle up to watch a movie, eat pizza and have awesome safe sex. Hepatitis had stopped being an issue the moment Guy #109 opened up about it. And he may very well have saved me from getting it myself someday.

STD’s, as it turns out, are kind of hot.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Friends with benefits
SEX SCORE (0= The concept of ranking sexual partners <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.2

Guy #108 – Good things come from taking pictures of mirrors…

Guy #108 and I dug each other’s pictures. It was all we talked about online. He was hot, I was hot and together we set a date to celebrate our collective hotness.

Usually dates based solely on hotness feature very little conversation. When two Guys get together for sex a conversation is like listening to Al Gore introducing a stripper. It sucks the libido out of you.

On the other hand, I was raised to be polite, to at least feign interest in people in the absence of any.

The thing is, when you start a conversation with someone just for the sake of the conversation, an actual conversation might arise and people can become interesting all of a sudden.

Guy #108 and I dug each other’s vibe more than we did our pictures. The sex that followed our chitchat even seemed a bit misplaced, like Al Gore at a strip club if you will.

The conversation flowed into sex was because it was the agreed upon arrangement. It never occurred to me some hot Guys are just not meant to be hot for each other.

Going to third base with Guy #108 wasn’t at all unpleasant, but I think both of us were sorry the conversation had ended.

The sex ended when Guy #108 started laughing.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer: I was laughing too.

It was actually kind of refreshing to lie in bed with a beautiful Guy and not feel any sexual tension. In fact, all the tension that comes with random hook-ups had evaporated along with our collective libidos.

In lieu of consuming each other’s bodies in ways previously discussed online, Guy #108 and I became friends, our sexual history but a weird memory.

To people who meet me based on what I look like taking pictures of mirrors it can come as a surprise I’m not always as horny as my selfies would suggest. A sex date is not something I expect my personality to stand in the way of, but I guess Guy #108 had enough of a brain to realize I’m not at all like the person in my pictures. Sure, I try to come across as a hot puddle of vanity holding a cell phone when I’m on a sex date, but the reality is of course that having a laugh, making fun of myself and not being aroused by a total stranger come way more easily for me.

Sex dates, if nothing else, are a good way to make friends. I’m sure the world would be a prettier place if more people could get naked the way Guy #108 and I did.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 years and counting
FORMAT: Ridiculous hook-up that quickly evolved into comfortably sexless friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = Anything with the name TRUMP on it <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5

Guy #107 – The former model…

Not too long ago scientists discovered an Earth-like planet about 490 light years away. That means we get to see this planet as it was 490 years ago.

The same thing happens in dating: Some people advertise themselves using selfies that were taken light years ago. In astronomy it’s interesting. In dating it’s just a big fat lie.

Astronomers would agree with me Guy #107 qualified as a big fat liar of cosmic proportions.

Guy #107 had been a model. Had been. That’s more past tenserish than anything you see in the night sky.

I get it. The world of dating is shallower than the world of science. I don’t look at bodies the way NASA does. I do have a tendency to not really care for the inside until the outside satisfies me.

Guy #107 got it too. He had spent a few years in the sun, being photographed by professionals when he was at the peak of his hotness. When we chatted online he would send me the most idyllic pictures of him at beaches, pools and against a wall with some hot woman who looked equally bored celebrating her prime. His pictures were hot alright.

Or maybe people on Grindr just like to be lied to.

Most of the time anticipation is but a prelude to disappointment. Guy #107 was no exception. When he opened the door to his apartment I felt like Dr. Who stepping out of a time machine: Based on his pictures I had expected to meet Guy #107 at least a decade earlier.

The funny thing was his house had pictures of him everywhere, yet Guy #107 looked nothing like him. I could tell it was definitely him in the pictures, but his face looked like it had taken an asteroid hit. Age had hit him hard.

When I first laid eyes on Guy #107 he had this hopeful yet questioning smile on his old face. He knew modeling would never pay another bill in his life. His smile was him asking me if I was okay with it.

I wasn’t, but I had traveled more than an hour to get to his place, it was late, it was freezing cold outside and I suck at rejecting people, so I politely asked for water when he offered me a drink. I never get to finish my glass of water on a sex date. This date was no exception.

Not wanting to look at his face any longer, it was probably me who initiated the first kiss. Before long, we were in his bedroom, which was a lot like his living room in the sense the walls were like a museum in his honor. Everywhere I looked I saw hot looking professional photographs of a very hot Guy looking very hotly bored in very little clothes.

I have to admit it was kind of hot to realize I was doing it with all the hot Guys around me. Sure it was a bit sad to have so many pictures of oneself, but I was glad to be constantly reminded of the hotness I might have been with had Grindr been around a few years earlier.

Afterward, Guy #107 and I sat on his bed as he gave me a binder which consisted of highlights from his portfolio. He’s the only person who ever started showing me pictures of himself after sex. I could tell he liked being reminded of the hot Guy he used to be. His interior was designed to look like the distant star he had become.

I could have been mad at Guy #107 for turning into a big fat liar, but I guess he was just a former model who had become karma to everyone who only cares what bodies look like on the outside.

We ended up doing it twice.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night trip down memory lane
SEX SCORE (0 = Bad karma <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #106 – Damn that beauty…

It is said that looks don’t matter. This is of course the biggest lie since Bill Clinton did not have sexual relations with that woman. Looks can fuel a crush as much as cigars can define a presidency.

In terms of hormones, Guy #106 to date has been the only Guy to get me hard at first sight. I could attempt to describe him, but for the sake of the story simply imagine the most beautiful person you’ve ever met and ever will meet.

Guy #106 and I spent one night together. The first few hours we talked in the absence of any physical contact. It made me wonder if he was even into me. I considered Guy #106 so beautiful I did not dare initiate a first move. It was he who had started our conversation. It was he who offered me a drink. And it was he who asked if I was up for sex.

It’s one thing to desire beauty. It’s a whole other thing to be desired by it.

The sex itself was what I would call spectacular. My lack of initiative dissipated the moment we got naked and I pleasantly surprised myself with my adequacy as I surrendered myself to the desires of my desire. If heaven is a place that houses 72 Guy #106’s I could empathize with people that fly planes into buildings.

Of course, the dimly lit cell that is a cabin in a gay sauna is about as far from heaven as a gay Guy can be. After exploring each other for a good few hours Guy #106 got ready to give me what I had wanted him to give me the moment I first saw him…and then he came. As such, the trip to heaven lost to gravity just as my hands reached for the clouds.

Guy #106 felt bad about it. I on the other hand was flattered and cuddled up next to him. For a long time we simply cuddled and talked, which I guess has always been my favorite sexual position. Not only was guy #106 drop dead gorgeous, he had a mind, feelings, thoughts, enough material to keep our conversation going for hours.

When morning broke Guy #106 suggested the two of us check into a cheap hotel and continue the weekend there. I wanted to, but instead I told him my mother had recently been diagnosed with ovarian cancer and that we had a family thing I would feel guilty for not attending, given the circumstances.

There really was a family thing and I really would have felt guilty for checking into a hotel with Guy #106. It’s also true I opened up about my mother’s illness to bring depth to a relationship that wasn’t really a relationship. For all the intimacy we shared we were still mostly strangers.

In lieu of flying to heaven in a hotel room I left Guy #106 my phone number. He texted me later that day (just as I was engaged in an epic battle of mini golf with family) saying he had enjoyed his time with me.
I’m not the kind of person that pursues a commitment, but when it comes to beauty I do tend to behave like an addict. Guy #106 got me high for a short while, but I quickly craved for more. So I texted back, asking when we could meet again. He said he’d have to check his schedule. I gave him dates when I’d be available. He said he’d really have to check his schedule.

He’s been checking his schedule for four years now. For years and counting.

I suck at playing hard to get, blissfully unaware of the fact my initial shyness was the very thing that made me worth chasing. I had been hard to get without realizing it. My reluctance to make even a hint of a first move had created a certain equality between Guy #106 and me. Now that I knew he found me attractive and nice to be around with I had completely submitted myself to his beauty, neglecting my own in the process. As a result I stopped being the delicious prey I was when Guy #106 first laid eyes on me.

If ever there was a Guy I’d like to meet again, it’s Guy #106. Not because I want to have sex with him – well, not just because I want us to cuddle above the cloud deck – but because he’s someone I’d want to know.
Most Guys I met have Grindr profiles, Facebook accounts or Instagram selfies. Guy #106 turned out to be a digital ghost I only knew by his first name. Maybe that’s for the best. I’m about to publish this post labeling him as the most beautiful Guy I’ve ever been with. It doesn’t get much less hard to get than that.

I do regret not checking into a hotel with him.
I regret it every time I see beauty.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 6 hours
FORMAT: Wow
SEX SCORE (0 = Gravity <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.6

Guy #105 – Urkel.

Love can be either devastating or annoying.

Guy #105 was annoying. The more he fell in love with me, the more annoying he became.
What annoyed me most were his tics. He constantly made a “clissing” sound with his mouth (clicking and hissing, I don’t know what else to call it). Guy #105 had this weird accent I could never quite take seriously. He was a nerdy PhD. in something, German, and the closest I ever came to dating Urkel.

Urkel was smart and from a certain angle and after a few glasses of wine not entirely uncute. He obviously wanted me as he explained to me the PhD. stuff that he did. He wanted me so eagerly I could make him eat his own socks if I wanted to. Apparently he thought me so worthy he considered himself blessed I was within reach. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, his clisses became more frequent and he giggled like a ventriloquist’s doll when I told him I like talking about quantum physics during sex.

Our first date wasn’t all that bad actually. I was in a romantic mood and must have enjoyed talking about particles. I probably initiated the first kiss as a gift of sorts. That somehow ended up in four hours of tender lovemaking. It was during those four hours Urkel’s mannerisms started to annoy me. His spit spat outward like a supernova each time he laughed. Even worse, he thought he was funny. He laughed a lot.

Urkel was so busy enjoying his moment in time he failed to notice I contemplated smacking his head each time he clissed. Instead, he spoke of me visiting him in Germany someday. He wanted to show me around and introduce me to his social life. I on the other hand was silently wondering why I had let it come to this. It’s difficult to enjoy sex when the other one is enjoying it so much more than you ever could.

Of course it’s nice when someone finds you attractive, but even admiration can be overdone. Nothing is more irritating than someone who wants to be your shadow.

For a few hours I had granted Urkel the illusion the two of us could ever be a thing of sorts. That had planted a seed. The moment his first cliss annoyed me Urkel became unaware of my true feelings for him. No matter what I did, he liked me more. No matter how curt, avoidant or rude I was, Urkel praised me like a Trekkie taking a shower with Jean-Luc Picard. The fact he idolized me and every breath I took made him an incredible nuisance, like a mosquito hovering around your head when all you want is sleep.

I considered myself lucky Urkel lived in Germany. It’s easy to ghost people long distance. Yet somehow he managed to find himself in my country again two months later, where he somehow had us attending a pride parade together. (As mentioned before, I absolutely suck at rejecting people.)

At times I pitied Urkel. His brain was undoubtedly sexy, but his nerdisms were too much for me to take in. His clissing in particular annoyed me, especially when accompanied by one of his many attempts to get physical with me. Being with him again made me wonder how on Earth the two of us had ever gotten to seeing each other naked.

Urkel was clearly disappointed when I told him we would not be having sex again, even though that had been the main purpose of his visit. I could tell he was sad because the clissing stopped.

We didn’t see each other after that, though he would frequently hit me up online to ask me questions like What’s up?, How’s it hanging?, How are you? and Hi?. I did not Hi back.

No one likes to see a sad Urkel, but I guess that’s because we’re all Urkel from time to time. Being in love is pretty much what being Urkel is all about. Guy #105 completely neglected his own brilliance for the sake of praising my pretty blue eyes. Fortunately, crushes come and go and he eventually stopped attempting to contact me. I guess it means he rekindled his relationship with the hot PhD. stuff he was so very good at.

Perhaps one day I’ll be the failed writer whose only claim to success is that he dated a future Nobel Prize winner this one time.

That’s still better than having to listen to any more of his clisses though.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 months
FORMAT: Drunken mistake followed by four month hangover
SEX SCORE (0 = Urkel’s pubic hair in your soup <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 3

Guy #104 – Best pity sex ever.

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

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

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

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

A week later he still had the flu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I imagine he’s been happily sexting since.

Relationship summary:

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