Guy #103 – Sticky rice…

Hotels are great for having sex with strangers.

When you go online to find a date, Guys in hotels are among the easiest catches. They can host, they are willing and sex will forever be the best amenity the Hilton has to offer.

Guy #103 was an Asian guy visiting Europe on business. We met online, where we agreed to meet in the lobby of his hotel, where he picked me up and took me to his room, where we had mildly satisfying sex that lasted about 20 minutes.

The end.

Or so I thought.

Usually when two strangers meet up for sex in a hotel this tends to be the extent of their relationship. Guy #103 and I didn’t have any connection I deemed worthy of exploring, so putting my clothes back on was my way of saying goodbye.

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Guy #103 however was new to the city. He wanted to explore. And worst of all, he wanted to explore with me. Fake politeness being my superpower, I accepted his offer to go for a walk together.

As far as I could tell nothing was wrong with Guy #103. I simply felt no more for him than I feel for strangers on a subway. Guy #103 gave me the feeling you get when a random passenger starts talking to you. The fact I just had sex with this stranger made things awkward and extremely tiring.
I would have been moderately fine with this had the sex taken place at the end of our date. Then at least our meaningless conversations would have led somewhere. Now we were merely exchanging increasingly superfluous pleasantries that sucked the life out of me, all for the sake of being polite to someone I knew I would never see again.

We ended up in some sort of Hindu temple, where Guy #103 lit a candle and had himself a moment of solemn silence. While I find spirituality interesting, I found it odd to top off anonymous hotel sex with a few minutes of less consensual prayer.

Guy #103 spoke of a restaurant he wanted to try out. He said he wanted to buy me lunch. I said yes.

I really do suck at rejecting people.

We sat down in an obscure and rather filthy establishment. Our table placed us in full view of an abattoir where dead poultry hang on its legs. Our table cloth was plastic and the cutlery felt sticky. Having exhausted every other possible casual conversation topic, the food was the only subject of our discussion. My dish most closely resembled a watery rice porridge I imagine must have been conceived in times of famine. It perfectly mirrored the satisfaction I had gotten from my date.
I told Guy #103 my food tasted healthy, the culinary equivalent of telling an ugly Guy he looks sweet.
I’m not sure what should worry me most: the fact I lie during my dates or that I mostly lie for my dates.

When we got back at his hotel Guy #103 invited me to come up with him. The thought of having to go through another round of sex with this Guy was no more appealing than a root canal treatment at this time. So I decided to be honest and said: “No force in the universe is strong enough to make me have sex with you ever again.”

That was a lie. The kind of honesty I actually performed went something like: “I really had a lot of fun. It was really nice meeting you. Thank you so much for that lunch also. It was really great. I would love to come up with you, really. But I don’t really want to keep my friend waiting. I have this thing I really need to be at. We should really keep in touch though.”

We did not keep in touch.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 hours
FORMAT: Purgatory
SEX SCORE (0 = Youtube commercials you can’t click away <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #102 – In sickness and in health…

Throughout my sex with Guys #1 through #101 there was always a moment, however brief, in which I wondered what my mother would think of the Guy I chose to have sex with. I knew she would never judge me for my sometimes pedestrian tastes, but I often pondered the idea of bringing home someone who could be part of my family. I always assumed there would come a day I’d settle down and go on Grindr to find someone to join me on family weekends.

Then came the day my mother got diagnosed with ovarian cancer, the absolute cunt of cancers in terms of survivability.

Having sickness in your life affects your sex life.

Maybe it’s my inner Rain Man, but I couldn’t help but objectify the human body a little, even the ones I had sex with. Sex is the human body celebrating its existence. Sickness reminds us it’s just a carcass in the making.

Guy #102 was one of the most beautiful Guys I’ve ever been with. Both his body and face were human nature at its best. We met on two occasions. The first time we had a few drinks and strolled around the city, talking and getting to know each other. The second time we met at his place and had two rounds of sex in just under 45 minutes. When I hit him up online to invite myself over for a third date, he politely held it off, quickly ending our relationship with the words we’ll see.

The strange thing was I tried to score a third date out of politeness rather than desire. Despite his raging gorgeousness I didn’t really feel like seeing Guy #102 another time. It was a bit confusing to not be attracted by beauty, though it probably wasn’t beauty I had issues with. It was health.

I dated Guy #102 around the time my mother’s hair started falling out. Having never experienced sickness at close range it was difficult to shed my mind of it, even when I was celebrating life with Guy #102. Not counting a common mono infection, health had always been a given for me. Not once did a body I have sex with remind me of sickness and while Guy #102 was about as perfect as bodies come, I couldn’t help but be reminded of how the human body can turn against itself sometimes.

The fact our first date consisted of nothing but talking suggested Guy #102 was interested in me. I even told him about my mother’s recent diagnosis, to which he responded empathetically. On our second date it became apparent Guy #102 didn’t want total strangers in his house, our first date being his means to check if I was mentally stable enough for an actual sex date.

As I was putting my clothes back on toward the end of our second date, Guy #102 told me to hurry. He mentioned something about a landlord coming home any minute.
“Sorry for rushing you like this,” he said.
“That’s okay. I have to go home anyway because of my mother.”
While it was true I was expected for dinner that evening, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry. I merely mentioned my mother to gauge Guy #102’s reaction. By the look on his face he thought it was strange someone my age had to report to his mother somehow. He had clearly forgotten about her illness. I didn’t mind. Guy #102 wanted me horizontal. The fact he got me horizontal twice had probably been a compliment of sorts. He simply wasn’t interested in my back story. Besides, who wants to talk about sickness when you just celebrated the human body, twice?

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Perhaps me bringing up the topic of mothers while there were still condoms on the floor was the reason I didn’t get invited for a third date.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 weeks
FORMAT: Background check followed up by standard sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5

Guy #101 – World’s worst blowjob…

I like sex to be a game of give and take. I want to want and be wanted, love and be loved, take and be taken.

As such, I don’t really have a thing for Guys that are either very dominant or extremely passive. I prefer my Guys to be versatile in each and every sense of the word.

Being with someone who gives himself completely bores me pretty quickly:
I listen to pretentious new age music, I like cooking, I cried when I saw Titanic the first four times. There’s no way I can dominate someone all the time. I have a very distinct feminine side that under influence of drugs can be like a princess locked away in a castle with no one to do it with except a dragon.

Being with someone who takes complete ownership of me tends to yield even worse results:
I can get off on rap or hard rock, I will destroy you if you’re in my space while I’m cooking and I still laugh about that Guy who jumped off the sinking ship and hit a propeller halfway down. I’m definitely a man, someone who will slay a dragon if it means I get laid.

Guy #101 was as gorgeous as he was dominant.

He was so dominant I had trouble liking him at first, even though he was in fact a very likeable person. He had a very strong opinion about every topic we discussed, but he made me feel like I would have to be stupid not to agree with him. My nuances weren’t given much attention.

Our date transpired at my place. Guy #101 had brought two bottles of wine for our kitchen table conversation. We were already halfway through the second bottle when he started showing videos of him having sex with his boyfriend, who of course was totally okay with him using their sex life as a means to induce foreplay with other Guys.

Granted, I enjoyed the way Guy #101 smoothly filled the room with sexual energy. It was cheap, very obvious, but every bit as effective. In a matter of seconds I felt as if I was on the set of a 1970s porn movie. Suddenly everything made me horny.

It’s probably what Guy #101 felt as well. We kissed and quickly went on to undressing each other. That’s where the conflict started. Guy #101 pushed my hands away when I tried to sensually unbutton his blouse. Instead he pulled my T-shirt up over my head, forcing me to either take it off completely or go blind for the rest of our date. As I rid myself of my shirt I saw that Guy #101 had unzipped his pants. I tried once more to take out his blouse, but once again my hands were pushed back. Instead he grabbed my head and pushed it down so hard I was afraid of having suffered a whiplash injury.

It was clear Guy #101 required oral sex. While we both aimed for that scenario, Guy #101 dismissed the scenic route as he had all my opinions. It had a certain kind of inequality about it that didn’t sit right with me. Just because I’m part princess doesn’t mean I’m not a feminist.

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I like it when sex is a fight, but I don’t want it to be like Gladiator. Guy #101 was the kind of Guy that would get his opponent naked on his knees in front of him facing nothing but his huge sword and yell Are you not entertained?

Aggressive and willing as he was, Guy #101 did not make me feel desired, or entertained for that matter.

Additionally, what little coordination I was granted was hampered greatly by the alcohol in my system.

The end result of our date was both the worst and shortest blowjob I’ve ever given. It was so bad the sexual chemistry had all but evaporated.

Guy #101 gave me a friendly smile as he zipped his pants back up. His sword would remain hidden for the remainder of the evening and all eternity.

We saw each other on a few other occasions, but always as friends. It allowed me to get to know his friendly side.

The strange thing is I was sorry the fight had stopped. I guess my inner princess got off on the idea of cooking Maximus a nice meal and making sweet tender love to him, while Maximus had pictured slaying a princess.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 years
FORMAT: One time failed sex date followed by friendly Facebook friendship
SEX SCORE (0 = The worst blowjob ever <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 
0

Guy #99 – That time I saved the universe from imploding…

Like most people, I’m not entirely free from OCD. I for one don’t kiss and tell. At a certain point in time, shortly after losing my virginity, I decided I would have sex with everyone I ever kissed. Just because otherwise the universe might implode and I would end up lonely somehow. OCD gets pretty creative when it comes to connecting the dots.
For a disturbingly long time, this meant every Guy I ever seduced on a dance floor ended up in my bed. Even today, kissing nearly always leads to sex with me, at least to third base. It’s a bit of a compulsion.

Guy #99 and I met one night. We spoke amicably and that somehow ended up in us making out to the beat of Waka Waka Eeh Eeh.

This time for Africa was the universe telling me I was setting myself up for pity sex once more.

At the time I still considered pity sex a better option than no sex at all. When I kiss someone it means I’m willing to invest in that person. And of course I also got off on people that find me hot. So while Guy #99’s head reminded me of the Roswell alien, I didn’t want to break my string of kisses that ended up in sex.

To my surprise, Guy #99 drifted off after kissing me. I expected us to hook up later and then go to my place – I don’t dry hump someone on a dance floor unless I mean business. The fate of the universe depends on it after all.
Instead Guy #99 simply went home at some point.

That had never happened to me. Every Guy I ever kissed had seen me naked as well. For a long time, Guy #99 was the only exception, the weakest link in my chain.

It wasn’t until a few years later I ran into Guy #99 again. By this time some of the Guys that had seen me naked had looked very good naked themselves. Guy #99 looked like an alien, which I’m not into.

On the other hand, it was actually rather nice running into each other. Guy #99 was incredibly friendly and warm hearted, and his head was truly kind of good looking, except of course for its disproportionally small body.
Added to that Guy #99 was really into me. I felt bad turning down his enormous head.

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For the sake of the universe I decided to have another try with Guy #99. I had kissed him once before. I simply had to do him.
We kissed again and sure enough, a few weeks later he finally visited me at my place.

It was on a Friday. I picked him up at his school campus. Having just finished a busy work week, I came wearing a tie, emphasizing the age difference between us. Age difference would turn out to be a major theme throughout our date.

As we drove to my house we mostly talked about homework. During our conversation he sang pop songs I had never heard before.

The thing is, his big head being so weird I had trouble seeing anything but weirdness. The fact our date was rooted in OCD probably didn’t help either.

Once we were at my place having sex, he started singing Britney Spears songs. I’m pretty sure it meant he was enjoying himself. He sang Toxic.
Actually, he didn’t just sing, he gave a performance, complete with his own choreography. To be fair, Guy #99 deserves credit for combining dancing and riding so graciously.

It wasn’t doing anything for me though.

Guy #99 was well above legal age, but you can’t help but feel an age gap when someone starts re-enacting a Britney concert during sex.

I guess unrewardingly weird intimacy is to be expected when you have pity sex out of OCD.

On the plus side, the universe didn’t implode.

A few weeks after our one and only date I ran into Guy #99 again. It was at our country’s only gay nightclub. Guy #99 walked up to me right as I was engaged in making out with Guy #100.
“Can I have sex with you tonight?” Guy #99 asked me like Oliver Twist asking for some more, soft spoken and anticipating his inevitable rejection.
“We’ll see,” I said, pointing my head at Guy #100, the Guy I was presently humping.

As I proceded to conquer Guy #100 I saw Guy #99 going around the dance floor, initiating a short conversation here and there, only to timidly walk away from whoever he spoke with. I can only assume he was going around asking people to have sex with him.

I felt sorry for Guy #99. All he wanted was someone to validate him and sing Britney songs with. Existence can be a sad experience when such a thing is too much to ask for. On the other hand, even my OCD can’t compel me to pity someone twice.

I can save the universe, but not everybody in it.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 years
FORMAT: Sex date/Britney Spears concert
SEX SCORE (0 = “My loneliness is killing me” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5

Guy #98 – The tease…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Relationship summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Dear Guy #?,

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

                               Bizet or something

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home is where the heart is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lennard

 


 

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #95 – The sad one’s boyfriend…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 


 

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #94 – The sad one…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 


 

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #92 – Ode to my genitals…

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This post is entitled Ode to my genitals…, but a more honest title would have been World’s Best Blowjob.

Going down on a Guy’s genitals is like playing the piano: Not everybody is equally talented. Like making music, the act of oral sex is a product of instinct as much as technique. Combining mouth, lips, tongue, head, hands and even teeth to produce an animalistic yet coherent pleasure inducing ode to one’s penis can result in anything ranging from a timeless masterpiece to a painful Idols audition.

Blowwise Guy #92 was like Beethoven on acid.
That’s a compliment.

Guy #92 started off a bit shy, careful to expose himself and his body. Instead he made sure the sex focused on me and my body. He even kept on his clothes on our first date (after taking mine off).
I needed a moment to adjust to that. Being raised in a world where politeness is considered a virtue I always treated sex as a game of give and take, not take and take. With Guy #92 however, my center was the only center of attention.

Receiving pleasure is often more difficult than giving it. I felt guilty for my own passiveness, even though Guy #92 clearly didn’t expect more from me than my enjoyment.

Fortunately, the guilt stopped when Guy #92 started playing my piano.

Anyone capable of finding words to describe Beethoven’s Ode to Freedom might be able to do justice to Guy #92’s Ode to my Genitals. I for one lack the vocabulary to verbalize that kind of music.

As time went by, Guy #92 slowly allowed himself to become more naked in my presence, even allowing me to give something back after a while. Still, he was always the type that likes to serve. All I had to do was grant him the pleasure that was me. It felt odd thinking of myself as a ‘piece of pleasure’, but once I submitted to the format of our combined sexualities I was able to enjoy Guy #92 as I would music, passionate, liberating and extremely good looking music.

A lot of people have trouble accepting generosity. They confuse acceptance with greed. In the case of Guy #92 I learned that allowing someone’s generosity can be the most generous thing one can do.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 years and counting
FORMAT: Friendship with occasional benefits
SEX SCORE (0 = Beethoven’s temper <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.6

Guy #91 – Abs and brains.

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

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

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

Like Guy #91.

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

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

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

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

So where’s the conflict in this story?

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not easy being a narcissist.

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

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

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

Sometime after Guy #91 I started accepting pleasure.

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

 


 

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #87 – Trying to be me…

Sometimes I miss Guy #87.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it’s probably the CIA.

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

 


 

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #85 – XTC.

Three symptoms are indicative of people on XTC:

  1. They go out of their way to say how beautiful you are.
  2. They can’t get an erection.
  3. They go out of their way to say how beautiful you are again.

Guy #85 thought I was very good looking. He said so many times. His mind was really set on doing stuff to my anus that would require him to have an erection, of which he couldn’t get one.

Not that it mattered. Guy #85 was extremely happy to be with me, or rather: he was extremely happy to be. I kind of happened to be there with him, enjoying the cuddling, the kissing and the constant stream of compliments as he frantically tried to perform CPR on the lifeless shrimp that was his penis.

Anuswise, it was a slow night for me.
But I did appreciate the intimacy of being with someone on XTC. The stuff really puts the happy back in gay.

As such, Guy #85 and I had a really good time together. I have no idea what on Earth we talked about, but I do remember our conversation flowed like a catchy Beyonce song. It doesn’t get much gay-as-in-happier than that.

One could argue if any of the intimacy we shared was real. I’d like to think it was in that moment, when it counted the most.

Guy #85 and I exchanged phone numbers. He wanted to see more of me. More importantly, he probably wanted to meet me again to do the anus stuff he had been talking about and was currently incapable of due to his drug induced impotence.

Guy #85 called me a few times. I liked him when he was sober, but our conversations stopped being catchy very quickly. We didn’t have that much in common as it turned out. We did set a date for him to visit me at my place, but he ghosted me before that date ever materialized. I sent him a compulsory text message, asking if he still intended on seeing me. To my relief I haven’t heard from him since.

An actual date with Guy #85 would likely have been awkward, clumsy and baseless, like making out with a dead shrimp if you will.

I don’t have anything against people doing XTC, nor do I have anything against sobriety, but I guess some relationships can only play out at a certain altitude. There was little to bond me and Guy #85, but enough to find it on a high.

XTC brings out the best in us for a short while and lets us see the best in others. I’m sure XTC could do wonders for the Middle East. And it makes getting an erection like breathing at 30.000 feet.

That’s probably for the best.

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Relationship summary:

LENGTH: A few weeks
FORMAT: One time hook-up followed by few phone calls
SEX SCORE (0 = The word ‘anuswise’ <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #84 – The stalker…

A fact of life is that some people are crazy. And sometimes you find out someone is crazy after exchanging bodily fluids and phone numbers.

Guy #84 and I spent about an hour together. It was good. He was very passionate, funny, kind and made me feel completely at ease.

He liked me as well.

I know, because I had forty missed calls the morning after.
Over seventy on the second day.
About thirty on the third.

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In between came the text messages. The first one went something like Hey, why are you not picking up? Are you there? About four or five text messages later I was bombarded by F-bombs, raging obscenities and uncontrolled anger, interwoven with desperate pleas for contact.

The sex between us had been so good I had given Guy #84 not just my phone number, I had also deemed him worthy of a Facebook friendship.

Within days he began attacking some of my cute looking Facebook friends, informing them of the kind of slut I was. (As if my cute looking Facebook friends didn’t already know.)
To date, Guy #84 has been the only person I ever had to block on Facebook, and that’s saying something.

I should hope it goes without saying I had no intention of seeing Guy #84 ever again at this point. Nothing is as unattractive as a stalker.

Except of course a stalker that quits.

I have to say I was somewhat disappointed to get but thirty missed calls on the third day. I could sense Guy #84 was giving up the fight. Indeed, the few missed calls I got on the fourth day were obligatory at best, but hardly suffocating like they were a few days before.

To his credit, Guy #84 proceeded by creating a fake Facebook account, from which he contacted me posing as his friend. His so called ‘friend’ said Guy #84 had some psychological problems and asked if I was willing to forgive his shortcomings and give him another chance.

But after ignoring Guy #84’s fake friend the stalking stopped, barely a week after it got started.

In my opinion, the Oxford dictionary should define the word stalkers as follows:

Stalkers: Crazy people who are fully aware of their own insanity, which doesn’t make them crazy, just weak, manipulative and downright evil. Or, to phrase it liberally: Stalkers are chickens too afraid to love themselves.

But darn it, are they good at sex!

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1 week
FORMAT: One time hook-up, followed by one week stalking spree
SEX SCORE (0 = “The call is coming from inside the house” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

 

Guy #54 – Saying ‘No’ to Hungry Bottom…

The world of sex dating is weird.

Total strangers can commit the most intimate acts.

Right now I have my phone lying next to me. I just checked Grindr. There’s a 46 year old Guy named Hungry Bottom looking for a fun top just 3000 feet away. He says hi. He doesn’t have a profile picture. Plus he’s 46, which is kind of stretching the age envelope for me. Then again, I can be a fun top if I want to.

I was that one time with Guy #54, back in 2009.

We had met online and later in my car.

If it wasn’t for the world of sex dating we never would have met. He was like Hungry Bottom in search of his fix.

He was around my age and not particularly attractive to me. As he stepped into my car I wondered if I really wanted to have sex with him.

The drive to my hotel room took about 30 minutes. 30 minutes of obligatory chit chat can be an eternity on sex dates, but not with Guy #54.

Sometimes nature has a way of bringing good people together. Guy #54 turned out to be someone who knew where to get weed in Wisconsin. It’s the kind of people I like knowing.

I don’t remember anything else that we talked about, but I do remember it being very pleasant. We laughed a lot, understood each other’s minds. After about 5 minutes of driving I found myself becoming attracted to Guy #54.

While I still had trouble finding Guy #54 physically yum, it did feel good to see how glad he was to be with me. It can actually be kind of a turn on if you have the power of turning someone else on, just by being naked. Plus I felt completely at ease with him, cracking jokes all the way through the sex itself. Sometimes it’s refreshing to talk a lot during sex.

For a good two hours we were like best friends on benefits.

Afterward I drove him back home, where we said goodbye to each other in a warm hug. We both knew we would never see each other again.

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As pleasant as our friendship had been, we both knew it had run its course. It’s just inherent to sex dating. Sometimes you meet people you actually become friends with. And other times you meet people that are just there to give your ego a push in the right direction.

That’s what Guy #54 and I did for each other.

Presently, I give 46 year old Hungry Bottom very little chance of finding his one true top in me. My ego has been pushed enough over the years.

Casual hook-ups are something of a psychological experiment, a way to meet someone on account of his hormones, or possibly a lack thereof in the case of Hungry Bottom.
Sex is a great way to get to know someone. It reveals someone’s strengths, insecurities, (mis-)conceptions, even hopes and dreams. Sex lets you figure out what makes a person tick.

Now that I’ve had my share of Guys like Guy #54 I don’t think I have to meet Hungry Bottom to find out what makes him tick. Guys on Grindr are often very much alike these days, especially when they’re called Hungry Bottom.

The world of sex dating is weird. It’s not monogamous, but it’s monotonous.

And that seems to be a choice.

Hungry Bottom would have much better odds if he had made the effort to say more than just hi.

Perhaps I sound old, but these days people don’t seem to be interested in hungry bottoms for the sake of exploration. They’re just in it for the sake of it.

That’s what I gather from Hungry Bottom’s hi. That’s why I won’t be saying hi back.

Thanks to Guys like Guy #54 I can now save myself the trouble of getting to know someone I already know.

Sex dating is weird, because we are all Hungry Bottom.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Minnesota nice <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #52 – LOST…

Wisconsin gets dark at night.

Being the hazel eyed slightly toned latino twink that he was, Guy #52 was my kind of hot in each and every way. I simply had to meet up with him and make my dream of having sex with him come true. He hadn’t shown that much enthusiasm for our date, so when I convinced him to let me come over I did not play hard to get. I persuaded him to give me his address and said I would be there in half an hour. I instinctively felt it would be my only window of opportunity with this Guy.

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That was his reply to my See you in 30 minutes!:). He was just barely okay with me showing up at his doorstep. I had to move quickly. I opened up Google maps and discovered that Wisconsin is kind of big.

Big and dark.

Being the expert navigator that I am and lacking a printer, I drew out the roads I was supposed to take on a piece of paper. I figured I was enough of a left-brain thinker to make that work.

It was about 45 minutes later when I first called Guy #52 to tell him I’d be there in five minutes.

Realizing that Guy #52 was barely k with me being there in 30, I started getting desperate around 60.

I really did my best to find his house, but every turn drove me further off the map I had drawn. I ended up on busy highways headed to Chicago and tiny country roads that led to places like ‘Prairie du Suc’ or ‘Sauk city’.

When I called Guy #52 for the third time he tried to guide me in like an airliner being flown by a stewardess. As the conversation continued, so did my anxiety. Guy #52 sounded irritated when he told me he had never heard of the places I was driving through. I said I was sorry. Twice.
I was losing him.

I decided to follow road signs that got me into Downtown Madison and work my way out from there.

I took me another 45 minutes to get back to the point I first got lost. I was running out of fuel and not carrying any money. My phone credit was close to zero. It was now or never.

I called Guy #52.
‘I can see your car,’ was the first thing he said.
I wanted to reply, but my phone ran out of juice that very moment. All I knew was that Guy #52 had seen me. For the first time in a long time I felt hope.

Then I saw someone flickering his lights in an apartment building a block away. My gut told me it had to be him.

To my relief it was.

His place looked familiar. I had already driven by it one and a half hour earlier.

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Even though Wisconsin was frozen, I stepped out of my car sweating. I literally had to catch my breath. From driving.

I can’t say Guy #52 and I hit it off well.

He was as gorgeous as his selfies and his k turned out to mean way more than ‘just okay’. But we both had lived through 2 hours of my ineptness as a navigator. Our relationship was based on irritability and ineptitude.

The sex was pretty good, but not what it could have been either. I was mostly relieved I got to have any. I was so busy being thankful for the gift that I almost neglected enjoying the gift itself.
Guy #52 also felt relief. I think the sex made him let go of his irritability.

However, it was already late and both of us had lives the next day. Guy #52 told me he was busy moving to Milwaukee, wanting to try his luck there. I jokingly said I know where Milwaukee is on the map. Guy #52 did not laugh. Maybe it was too soon for jokes about my ineptitude.

Fifteen minutes was a really short time for being with Guy #52. I avidly wished it could have been longer, but I think our key traits, irritability and ineptitude, resurfaced after we both had our relief.

I never saw Guy #52 again.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours and 15 minutes
FORMAT: Searching for each other, followed by 15 minutes of sex
SEX SCORE (0 = The taste of Donald Trump’s hair <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8

Guy #51 – Once, you go black.

A lot of Guys take offense to people that write about certain preferences on their dating profiles:

Not into Asians
Looking for black cock
Latinos move to the front of the line

I never got why any of this is offensive.

Personally, I don’t have much sexual experience with black Guys. Truth be told I’ve never felt much sexual chemistry between me and ebony. Whether the preference on my end is conditioned or innate I don’t know, although being as white privilege as they come it’s not unlikely my lack of sexual interest in black Guys is at least partly because of my inherent racism.

Which is exactly the reason why I would never share my racial preferences on my dating profile.

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I actually had a very nice date with a black Guy once.
Guy #51 was a lawyer. I asked him questions about how to get away with murder. It wasn’t really the kind of law he specialized in, but he went along in pondering various crime scenarios with me.

The reason I ended up at Guy #51’s house was simple. I had set myself on a mission.

It was my mission to have sex with a black Guy at least once, which I suppose is the gay scene equivalent of me bragging about having this one black friend.

It took me all but an hour to hook up with the first cute black Guy I found online.

The sex was interesting.

My personal experiences taught me Asians tend to have smaller genitalia. Guy #51 confirmed another stereotype for me. There’s size and then there’s size. There’s penis and then there’s Cape Canaveral.

Impressed as I was, I didn’t really know how to handle it. Having done so many Asians I felt like a hairdresser whose comb had just been replaced by a brush cutter. I was impressed, but equally inept.

I very much enjoyed being with Guy #51, but mostly because he was the kind of lawyer that would help a stranger get away with murder. Sexually though, he wasn’t really the Guy from his pictures. He was a little fat and a tad too hairy, which I felt bad about, because I really wanted to be attracted to Guy #51. It would be key to proving I wasn’t in any way racist.

Things were very cuddly for a sex date. It’s the best I could do. It was nice being intimate with Guy #51, but it never quite turned me on, I suppose because I was consistently reminding myself I was being intimate with a black Guy, showing the world how much of a racist I wasn’t.

Not the kind of thought process to expedite any arousal.

So many of our preferences are variables we have so little control over: cuteness, eye color, hair color, body type, dick size. I always live under the assumption I know my preferences, yet I often find myself surprised by the people I am attracted to.

After going black with Guy #51, I didn’t have sex with another black Guy until Guy #167 came along. I didn’t consciously avoid having sex with black people. It just never happened again, nor did I pursue it as avidly as that one time with Guy #51.

I don’t understand why it would be racist to have a sexual taste in race, but I also don’t get what exactly turns me on and off, and how much of my inner workings are of a benign origin.

I do understand never to rule anyone out on a dating profile.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = The Hindenburg disaster <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #50 – Jaws.

When you meet someone online you don’t always get to see their teeth right away.

For instance, braces can be hidden by closing your mouth on all your selfies.

Guy #50 was one of the many Guys I had sex with out of empathy. Once again it was a disaster.

I don’t have anything against people with braces, but Guy #50 reminded me of Jaws from the James Bond movies.

Added to that, he was irritating.

He constantly laughed at his own jokes, which often came out wrong due to his dental deficiency.

He constantly interrupted me, which I thought was unfair. I was way better at talking than he was.

Then there was the fact he talked very loud. Everybody in our vicinity could hear him and his teeth. People looked up and saw Guy #50 laughing as if he was controlled by a ventriloquist. They could also see me, cringing my way through the ordeal. Standing in line with him at Taco Bell was what purgatory must be like.

As a result of the social awkwardness I wanted me and my date to end up somewhere isolated as quickly as possible. I knew people were staring at me over the edge of their tacos.

But Guy #50 insisted on eating our food at Taco Bell. That’s the thing with purgatory. It always lasts longer than you expect.

It was obvious Guy #50 was very lonely, having just moved to the city from Mexico. Maybe he actually felt at home in Taco Bell. It was the most Mexican thing our wintry Wisconsin had to offer.
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As the evening progressed I came to realize Guy #50 was a normal person overcompensating for looking like Jaws.

I know a Guy can’t help it if he has to wear braces. It’s just difficult not to hold it against someone when everything about him makes you want to leave Wisconsin.

Despite his obnoxious behavior I felt sorry for him. He smiled a lot. I doubt he went on dates often.

By the time Jaws said he wanted to feel me inside of him, I had already reached that unrecoverable stage of self loathing. Titanic’s bow had already gone under so to speak.

God knows why I take the pity route so often. If you have sex with someone out of pity, you inevitably end up feeling sorry for yourself. Actually, it’s not just sex. The pity had taken control over me the moment I agreed to go to Taco Bell on a first date.

And it never ends up well for the Guys I pity either: Because of the sex Guy #50 was under the impression I liked him. However I always follow up pity sex by turning into a ghost. I stop sending emails, text messages or apps. I make myself an unperson to those I pitysex, while they in turn always think of me as relationship material.

I suck at rejecting people.

So instead of rejecting Guy #50 before the sex, I rejected him after, hurting him more than I would had I simply told him he looked like Jaws before he suggested tacos for dinner.

Guess I’m not as good at talking as I thought I was.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 hours + plus an eternity at Taco Bell
FORMAT: Dinner at Taco Bell followed by pity sex
SEX SCORE (0 = Jaws and glory holes <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 2.5

Guy #47 – Finding friends in the wrong places…

 

 


 

 

I’m not sure what’s worse: Doing porn with someone you can’t stand or doing porn with someone you want to spend the night with.

Guy #47 had great looks, a good sense of humor and we seemed to really get each other.

The sex was very good, except for the fact there was a bearded guy with a camera minding our every business all the time.

It’s not that I resented the bearded camera guy. If it wasn’t for him Guy #47 and I never would have met. It’s just that I wanted Guy #47 and me to me more than just colleagues.

We probably could have been, were it not for the fact that I was moving to another country mere days after our shoot.

I did have a lot of fun riding the subway with Guy #47 on our way back home. It’s always a thrill to meet someone who seems to really get you. It felt like I made a friend. He too regretted the fact I was leaving the country so soon.

Guy #47 and I kept in touch through Facebook for a while. I think I would have enjoyed Guy #47’s friendship as much as the benefits that would have been a part of it. It would have been nice to hook up with Guy #47 in the absence of a cameraman.

Of all my porn shoots this had been the only time I was sorry when it was over.

The summer of 2009 was one of sexual exploration. Guy #47 was my penultimate date of that period, signaling the end of it. I was days away from moving back to my home country and trying to figure out what to do with my life.

The summer had been brief as it had been enjoyable, much like my time with Guy #47.

I remembered the time I still thought having sex with guys was just a bisexual experiment. I literally believed I could never have feelings for a Guy at one point.

Now that I was leaving a city in which I had met so many of them, I realized I would miss some.

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It was awful doing porn with a passive aggressive straight guy. It was just as awful saying goodbye to a colleague I very much wanted to cuddle up with.

It had been a summer of exploration, but I never realized what I was looking for, what fueled my journey in the first place. I figured it was suppressed horniness from my closet years. While that was part of it, the actual reason I had been on a gay hunting spree was a much more valid one.

I was looking for a human connection.

It was both liberating and frustrating to find one on a porn set.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Collegial
SEX SCORE (0 = When a pharmaceutical commercial lists the side effects of their product <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.7