Guy #149 – The most forgettable of them all…

Do you really remember all the people you ever had sex with?

It’s a question I get asked a lot. While I try to be 100% sure this blog tells the story of every Guy I ever had sex with, I may have forgotten one or two of my dates over the years.

When I started I drew up a list of all the dates I could remember. That exercise joggled my memory and for a few months my daily routine would be routinely interrupted by the sudden memory flash of a Guy I had sex with once, which I would follow up on by assigning that Guy a number in the overall chronology of my sex life. The end result became an Excel sheet that powers this blog. Although one of my more recent dates, the memory of Guy #149 was one of the last to pop up in my head, one of the last to be added to said sheet.

That means I came very close to forgetting Guy #149 altogether.

Which means it’s not exactly easy writing the story of us two. I barely remember him as a person. I suppose the most memorable thing about Guy #149 was how forgettable he was. Of all my dates so far, he came closest to not becoming a memory.

I don’t mean to be derogative by the way. I’m sure there are Guys I dated who don’t remember me. When you live a life where sex is a commodity, forgetting about a person whose anus you inserted becomes as easy as forgetting what you had for dinner a week ago. This may be hard to grasp for people who never paid much attention to other people’s anuses, but those that do it on a daily basis will agree with me: The more sex you have, the more spectacular it has to be for it to become a memory.

So was there anything wrong with Guy #149?

Not at all. He was a very nice and reasonably cute Asian twink who lived in a crappy apartment with a very small bed. Him being from China or Vietnam or Thailand, we no doubt worked our way up to foreplay by talking about the strains and stresses of settling in an unknown country, the upside of living in a place where being gay is not an issue, the downside of missing a family that wouldn’t be entirely on board with the whole gay thing and then at some point the conversation must have dissolved into kissing somehow, probably because I initiated it. Mind you, aside from his tiny bed I don’t actually remember any of this happening, but I can only assume things went down this way.

The kissing flowed into sex on a bed clearly not designed to withstand any, but I can’t remember it bothering me much. Guy #149 was friendly, attractive and he had an anus. It was exactly what I had bargained for, nothing less, but nothing more either.

If you’re a Guy from Birma or Japan or South Korea who had sex with me not too long ago, someone with a small bed and a crappy apartment, please don’t take offense. The fact you’re forgettable says nothing about you and everything about the way I treat people.

Guy #149, if you’re reading this: Thank you for a lovely evening. If you ever ordered a pizza, you know that feeling you get after a hard day’s work, when you turn on the TV and let a slice go down on you as you numb off to reruns of Friends or How I met your mother or Family Guy. Life is good when you got pizza, but we don’t remember every pizza we’ve ever eaten. Guy #149, the fact you even made it to this blog is a testament to your cuteness.

Although truth be told I might have forgotten about you were it not for that tiny ass bed.

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night stand
SEX SCORE (0 = Microsoft Excel <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7,5

Guy #145 – Look at me not being shallow!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler alert: #146 had abs.

Relationship summary:

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

Guy #140 and #141 – Letting go of the shallow…

The one thing I remember most from my dates with Guys #140 and #141 is the scenery.

For a while I had the pleasure of living in a house right next to the sea. It even had its own little private beach. The sea in question was the Caribbean Sea, meaning I lived next to what could have been the set for Finding Nemo. Basically, I woke up to the sight of the world’s most generic wallpaper every day.

Having dates in that environment can be fun, even if those dates themselves aren’t that attractive.

Guy #140 was an engineer from Colombia, over at my island to do some engineering stuff and to get off with the locals in his spare time. We sat on my beach, counted the number of ships we saw on the horizon, talked about the mysteries of the cosmos and our macabre interest in plane crashes. I actually had a great time with him as we pondered the final moments of Air France 447. It was awesome to go that deep with a stranger.

Yet as much as I dig deep, I consider looks important too. While it’s definitely hot to discuss the inner workings of a pitot tube with an engineer at night on your own private beach, this particular engineer had belly fat and chest hair.

Still, I found myself in a romantic setup in one of the most romantic places I had ever been, let alone lived. I believe it was me who initiated the first kiss, which ended in my bed somehow.

While Guy #140 surrendered himself to making love to me as passionately as engineers can manage, I couldn’t shake the thought of being in a plane crash. While I thought of it in terms of how lucky I am to be alive, it wasn’t the sort of motivational speech to get me in the mood. Added to that, said sex took place in my bedroom, where the sound of the ocean got replaced by the humming of the air conditioning.

Still, I didn’t feel regret afterward. In fact, part of me couldn’t deny part of me had enjoyed it. I guess sometimes it’s liberating to let go of the shallowness, uneasy as it may feel. If it hadn’t been for that generic wallpaper as my back yard, I probably would have rejected Guy #140.
So there you go. Scenery matters.

Testament to that fact was Guy #141, a tourist from France, also equipped with belly fat and chest hair, but also equally engaging. It actually thrilled me I was capable of maintaining a conversation in French for a full hour, covering topics such as terrorism, freedom of speech or the horror that is blue cheese.
Once again, it was me who initiated foreplay and although it’s never a good idea to have sex with the memory of blue cheese resurfacing as blue cheese would, part of me had nothing but a good time.

Before Guys #140 and #141 there had been Guy #139, the most beautiful Guy I ever shared a bed and a car with. He too had been at my beach. He only spoke Spanish, meaning my mind wasn’t on global warming or the Challenger disaster when I had sex with him.
Now, I had used my secret human powers to connect with someone on a meaningful level, in French even. The resulting sex was almost equally rewarding, even though I would have done Guy #139 over any engineer no matter what the scenery.

Guys #140 and #141 were both intelligent, friendly and charming people who came by to teach me a few simple yet powerful life lessons:

– Scenery matters.
– As do looks.
– And even brains in some cases.

It’s rewarding to let go of the shallow.
It’s also not easy.

Relationship summaries:

Guy #140:
LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Beauty and the Beast, when you stop to think about what it entails <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7.5

Guy #141:
LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Also, The Little Mermaid was a minor when she hooked up with Prince Eric <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.5


Do what I did. Start with Guy #1.

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