STD outrage

Last Monday, doing lunchtime exercises, I squashed my dick a bit between my body and the weightlifting bench. Twenty minutes later when I took a leak, it hurt slightly, though it hadn't been squashed that seriously. I actually recognised the feeling a bit from thirteen years ago when shortly after my first sex with Ralph I came down with gonorrhoea (see On the floor [1 of 2]): that first stage felt exactly like this. I also remembered that in the next stage taking a leak felt like pissing needles. Fuck! Nevertheless, I consciously chose to have unprotected oral sex and run the risk of getting one of the curable STDs (see New Year's resolution).

Who gave me this? Either the threesome the day before (see Every man's dream) or the muscle god three weeks before that (see An awful weekend). If the latter, I would have had symptoms earlier on, but if the former the symptoms were quick to appear. Still, it must have been the threesome.

The next time I peed I didn't feel anything strange. Had I just imagined the pain then? I kept a close eye on it for the next 36 hours and realised I had been fooling myself. Maybe it was just that I didn't trust the guys of the threesome to have been all that careful with hygiene or something. Anyway, since I was clean and I needn't worry, there was no reason say 'no' when the Romanian guy wanted to come over on Tuesday night.

On Wednesday morning I woke up with a major headache and it seemed I had a bit of excretion -- although it looked a bit like precum, I didn't think it was since that never comes in my sleep. Again, I was reminded of the situation from thirteen years ago. Moreover, I felt a slight pain again when I peed, and so I emailed my boss that I took a day off.

I tried to call the STD clinic where I have myself checked twice a year, but my phone couldn't connect to the network. When it still wasn't working by afternoon, I decided to just go there. Without an appointment the waiting time would be somewhat longer, but it was my only option. I got on my bike and rode through the rain and storm and the slow traffic. When I arrive at the clinic fifty minutes later, the receptionist told me they had changed policy: they only saw people with appointments.

I went outside, hoping my phone would operate again in the different environment, but it didn't. I went back inside and explained to the receptionist that my phone didn't work. "Not my problem," he observed. "But, can you schedule an appointment for me?" I asked. "No, you have to call for an appointment," he replied, his expression indicating that I was very stupid for having wasted his time with that question. "But... but, my phone doesn't operate... there's no way for me to call you...," I said in a helpless tone. "Not my problem," was his response.

I went home and tried to call the clinic using Skype. Unfortunately I got no pick up until after 4.30 p.m. when a recorded message told me I had to call before 4.30 p.m. The next day at work my phone did connect to the network once more so I called the clinic to make an appointment for Friday morning at nine. Asking for another day off, I told my boss someone had given me a present I didn't like over the weekend and that I needed to return it on Friday. After he left the room and I added to my colleague Stephen that I'd probably have to take a pill to get rid of the present. He smiled.

I drank a lot at breakfast on Friday morning, because I knew that after the examination they would want a urine sample. At the clinic I waited for about half an hour and then I couldn't wait any longer. I had to pee. Ten minutes later I was called into the doctor's office. Two throat swabs, two penis swabs, a rectal swab, and two tubes with blood later I was sent back to the waiting room with two empty containers for urine. It took me more than an hour until I could pee again.

When the doctor called me in again she said that to her surprise -- I told her about the symptoms -- she couldn't find anything. My blood was okay and so were the preliminary results from the swabs. I had to call next Friday for the definitive results. I know I have gonorrhoea though, so I'll just hope I won't be pissing needles before next week. I was kind of hoping they'd find something so I could get a pill, but no such luck. Now I will have to call them next Friday and come back for the pill. That's another afternoon I have to take off, and another week that I can't have sex.

Just as I started writing this, I found I was starting to leak pus -- so gross! I just sent the Romanian a message with my diagnosis, some reassurance, my apologies, and the phone number of the clinic. I wonder if he still thinks I'm a nice guy.

A view to dream of

On Tuesday evening this, now 23-year-old, Romanian guy whom I had had a sex date with once on a Sunday back in March (see I'm back) wanted to come over again for more, but asked me if I could pick him up by motorcycle. I agreed.

Arriving at my place he said it had been his first motorcycle ride ever, and he was excited. We had a drink and a short chat and fooled around on the sofa. He was one of those guys who seemed to think that kissing means turning your tongue around like a teaspoon in a tea glass. He took a quick shower, because he hadn't done so after a day's work, and joined me in the bedroom. He was lazy in bed and didn't do anything I didn't direct him to do, except for one thing: he was one of those guys who continuously jerk off while having sex, except when the other guy is playing with it. That annoys me to bits. At some point I asked him, "Can I fuck you?" and he whispered, "Yeah." I put on a condom, lubricated it, and then he suddenly changed his mind: "I'm actually too tired. I'm sorry." I kept the condom on for a bit, hoping he would change his mind, but he didn't.

Afterward we sat on the sofa for a bit and he asked if he could open the curtains. "Wow, so beautiful," he said, "You know, I had a dream recently where I look out of a window as big as this one, at about this height, and all I could see was the ocean and the rocks that the house was built on that extended a bit into the water. It was such a beautiful dream, but then I woke up and I was in my bed again, alas. I'm quite sure that my former visit to your place was the inspiration for that dream. I've never been in an apartment with such a magnificent view." I look out over a city, not an ocean.

"How's your love life going?" he suddenly asked. "Not much going on, unfortunately," I said, "I met a very nice guy in England this summer (see Oh, what a night [1 of 3]), but he's from Melbourne, so visiting each other is almost impossible. He came over for a weekend in October and that felt good though." "Wow, he flew halfway around the globe for a weekend with you?" he said, "I can see why: you're a very nice guy!"

Why did I write this down? I don't really know.

The wallet

Last Sunday afternoon I got a phone call from Fernando, Portuguese guy I had dated the previous night (see Yet another foreigner). He told me he had left his wallet on the bar in one of the clubs we had visited and wanted to know the name of the place. I have him the name and phone number and said I had to hurry because I was meeting a friend for dinner. I couldn't tell him I was almost late for a threesome (see Every man's dream), could I?

When I returned home I asked Fernando on MSN if his wallet had been found, but he told me the number I gave him didn't seem to exist. I checked the phonebook and their web site, but it was really their number. Nonetheless, I got the same tone when I dialled it. "Then my only option is to go there and ask," he said. He lives in a different city and I wanted to save him the trip, expecting his wallet would be stolen anyway. "There is another option," I said, "I could go there. If they have it, then I'll go directly to your place and bring it over." Fernando accepted the first part of my offer and objected to the second. "We'll see about that," I said, getting into my biker gear.

It was Sunday just after dinnertime and I expected the club to be very quiet. I parked my bike around the corner and got inside. I've never seen the club that crowded before. The club had three bars and I was sent from one bar to the next by the gorgeous bartenders who didn't speak the native language. In the meantime I got more attention from the crowd than ever before: half of them with horny looks, the other half mocking. From a group of old guys one mockingly shouted at me, "Where's your helmet," apparently thinking that I wore my gear out of fetish. I slightly lifted my left hand showing my helmet. It took him far longer than it took me to come up with his next question: "Where is your motorcycle?" The manager told me that they hadn't found anything and so I left my number, just in case.

I was happy to leave the club, feeling a bit weird there in my biker gear. I didn't give up though and went to the bar we had visited next. Good that I did because they had found his wallet. After I told them the details of what was in it, they handed it over to me.

I called Fernando to tell him the good news and to ask where I should deliver it. He didn't want to tell me and insisted that he come pick it up at my place. For me it would have taken twenty minutes by motorcycle to get to his place, but for him it would take eighty minutes to visit me by public transport. "Do you like chocolates?" was his next question. I didn't want any reward for picking up his wallet: his coming to my place was reward enough.

He arrived at about half past ten in the evening and stayed for about an hour. I felt guilty for allowing him to travel so long for such a short visit. I work very close to his home, so he could even have picked up his wallet from my office the next morning. Again, I offered him a bed but he declined. When he got on the bus to the train station we said good bye, and again I thought I'd never see him again.

On Wednesday, however, he contacted me and said he wanted to reward me for picking up his wallet by buying me dinner. I said I would gladly accept the dinner invitation, but that I wouldn't allow him to pay for me. And so we will be having dinner next Sunday. I'm quite excited.

Every man's dream

You hear it quite often: "A threesome is every man's dream." I've been wanting to try a threesome too for some time, but I hadn't managed to find two suitable guys to do it with.

Committed readers will object that I have done five threesomes before in my life, and that is true:
- The first two were with boyfriend Ralph and Omar, the hottest guy I ever touched (see Roma - Omar - Amor). I was so overwhelmed by his beauty and hotness that I didn't get hard. The fact that I noticed how my lover fucked him might have had something to do with my not being able to.
- A year later Ralph and I tried to pick up a very sexy guy from a gay bar on the Canary Islands. He turned out to be straight, but his brother was gay. Ralph and I didn't fancy the brother much, but we each thought the other one did. Only afterwards we discovered our common error (see On the floor [2 or 2]).
- Two years ago, a few days after breaking up with Matthew, I had a threesome with him and his new lover Joey. His lasted only a few minutes, because Matthew couldn't handle the thought of his two lovers having sex with each other (see Love in the fast lane [2 of 2]).
- Half a year later I ended up at Damian's place with him and a girl. They wanted to have a threesome with me and we sort of had one (see Straight porn). I didn't do anything with the girl except kissing and fingering. She wanted to go all the way, but I didn't want to. I didn't like girls anymore.

I wanted to experience a threesome once with two attractive guys with whom I wasn't involved, and which would last until I came. I've been looking for that opportunity ever since I was single.

Last Sunday I chatted with an 33-year-old Arab who wanted to meet me for sex. He had a 36-year-old friend and both of them liked my pictures very much and wanted a threesome with me. Because the Arab had a girlfriend, he didn't want to send me his picture. I was in doubt, but I could understand the guy's position. And hey, if I didn't like them much, I could always decide not to join, right?

And so I went to their place. I was late and the friend opened the door. Now, I'm might suck at guessing ages, but I was quite sure they were about ten years older than I was told. Moreover, they didn't exactly have the most athletic bodies. However, I did lie four years off my age and I'm not very athletic either. "Why do I always need to be so picky," I thought,"It's just for sex. It's not as if I have to marry either of them." And so I stayed and joined.

The guys each bottomed for me. And the Arab fucked his friend. He told me that he was actually a top, but wanted to try the other role with me, because I was so hot. I didn't believe a word of it, but from a cultural point of view I could understand his need for self-deception. At least he tried to make me feel special.

The guys used a lot of poppers. I have never tried that stuff and I never will. It makes guy even more egocentric in bed, and they seems not to be able to enjoy sex without the stinky vapour. It's a turnoff for me if a guy uses that stuff, but I never complain when a guy wants to use it; I just know it's the last time I will have sex with him.

Just before I left the Arab told me proudly, "I've chatted with you several times before, but I never managed to get a date with you. After more than a year now I finally succeeded. Man, you're hot. I wanna meet with you more often." I have the suspicion that he had included the other guy just to lure me over. Flattering but frightening.

The caged dreamer

After my Portuguese date got on the train home again last Saturday around midnight (see Yet another foreigner), I didn't feel like going home yet. I decided to go do something I dread doing: I stayed out and went on all alone. I walked into one gay bar, only saw couples and groups of friends ,and walked out again; the same thing happened with the next bar. Then I recalled that a Polish guy I had been chatting with for a while was going out in the C&A bar that night and that he had wanted to say hi if I were around. And so I went there.

I went in and walked to the back when suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Alessandro, the coupled Italian (see Nosy and The Nose). He had just returned from his place in Florida and seemed very happy to see me. He was with group of Italians and I wondered if his boyfriend was among them. He wasn't. I expected that Alessandro would want to chat with his buddies again, but instead he completely focussed on me and introduced me to his best friend.

Alessandro was very unhappy to be in my country again, the same reaction I had encountered with my Iraqi friend (see Yet another foreigner).

Alessandro: I really don't like the people in this country. It's hard to become close to anyone. I've lived here for almost a decade and, look, I still only go out with my Italian friends because I don't have local friends to go out with.

Jackdaw: You could go out with me...

Alessandro: I have sex with you; you're not a friend...

Jackdaw: I never said I was, but if you only choose to go out with friends you won't make any new ones.

Alessandro: You've got a point there.


Alessandro very frequently says interesting things without necessarily being aware of it. I'll give you three examples.


Example 1

Alessandro: I wanna know about your 'dark side'.

Jackdaw: What do you mean?

Alessandro: Your filthy fantasies and rotten dreams, the things you hide from the world.

Jackdaw: I don't have any of those really...

Alessandro: Everyone has a dark side.

Jackdaw: I'm afraid I don't. I'm essentially a very innocent guy.

Alessandro: Innocence is the biggest perversion of all.


Example 2

Jackdaw: You should do whatever makes you happy.

Alessandro: I don't wanna be happy.

Jackdaw: Sorry!? Explain that!

Alessandro: It's nonsense to want something you cannot control.

Jackdaw: Surely, you want happiness. Everyone does!

Alessandro: No! Happiness is part of your subconscious. You can only influence that slightly, but there is no way to control it. It makes no sense to strive for some state of your subconscious.


Example 3

Alessandro: I like you, you're very interesting.

Jackdaw: Interesting...?

Alessandro: Your mind tries to understand, categorise, and model everything that comes in. It's looking for clarity and structure. However, deeper inside you I see a dreamer who's caged by this structuring. You should let the dreamer roam free. It'll set you free in a way.


After my conversation with Alessandro I checked it the Polish guy were there. He wasn't. Alessandro and his buddies left the bar and I went to my night bus home and I realised that all night long I had only spoken English. So sad. Why can't I date guys anymore who speak my native language?

Yet another foreigner

What I told Jake last Thursday (see Boozing on a weeknight) was no joke: locals don't seem to like my looks and it's therefore hard to find a partner. I logged on to a gay chat site last Saturday with my picture showing, just for a chat. During the time I was online I have started about thirty conversations. One guy replied, "Hey, ugly fat ape!", a second one initially responded but ignored me after that, and a third one only wanted sex; the other twenty-seven guys completely ignored me. Oh, and just for the record, I'm neither ugly nor fat (see Mirror, mirror on the wall).

Then I got a message on a gay personals site from a Portuguese guy from another city with whom I had been exchanging messages for the last week. He wanted to meet up for tea. I said we could after eight o'clock. This way I was sure we wouldn't end up having dinner together -- which is never a good idea on a first date -- and if we turned out to be a mismatch, I didn't have to wait for too long for the nightlife to start. We said he would travel to my city right away and call me to confirm a time later that evening.

I agreed and immediately regretted that. Why would I want a relationship with a foreigner? In the end they all want to travel on to others country or back home. Why start with such a complicated situation? Why is it that only people not born in my country want to meet me? It isn't financial reasons: after all, most of the guys I dated had good jobs. As my Iraqi friend said, "The guys here are so arrogant. Everyone complains that they want a boyfriend, but in practice everyone is really only after sex and then they dump you." He's lucky, at least he gets to do the sex part...

It was too late to cancel on the Portuguese guy and so I met up with him. He was 31 years old, a little smaller than me, and had beautiful dark brown eyes. For a guy who spends so much time in the gym, he was less muscled that I would have expected though. He turned out to be pleasant company: intelligent, witty, and a with strong personality. We went to a bar where, close to midnight, he indeed ordered a mint tea while I drank a vodka & coke. When I mentioned two other nice places to visit, he said, "We should go there next week and the week after that." Nevertheless, we barely touched each other all evening and after two hours he said he had to catch his last regular train home.

I said that he could sleep at my place -- that I had a guest room -- so that we could go out a bit longer. He responded that he would like to, but that he wasn't really dressed for going out and not prepared for staying over. I walked him to his train where we said good bye. Even though he made me promise to keep in contact, I didn't believe I'd ever meet him again. I regretted that a little.

Boozing on a weeknight

Last August Jake really insulted me on our last night out together (see An unnecessary insult). I slept at his place anyway, but after that we didn't contact one another for some weeks. In late September, he came over to my place and we had a fun evening together (see Actively passive). That evening he told me he would be having a second date with a twenty-year-old guy called Eddy whom he liked a lot. Jake slept at my place and we had sex.

Since then we have been chatting often on MSN once again. He's been dating Eddy ever since, so he didn't have time to go out with me during the weekends. Two weeks ago, a mutual friend of theirs called them 'boyfriends' and Jake and Eddy decided it was a good idea to start using that term themselves. The only time I have met Jake in person again since September was when I walked past his pasty stand two weeks ago and stopped to have a chat. He immediately prepared something special for me to take home. Very sweet.

Last Thursday, just after I finished the second half of the dinner I had prepared the day before -- that sounds so much more sad when you write it down than when you actually do it -- Jake asked me on MSN to meet up for a drink, either in a bar or at home. Although I hardly ever drink alcohol when I have to work the next morning, this time I felt that I could definitely use some. Besides, I was eager to see Jake again, and I wondered why he suddenly wanted to meet on a weeknight. It was unlikely that he had broken up with his boyfriend so soon after he had started calling him that, but he probably wanted some sort of relationship advice.

Since I'm against drinking and driving, weather was bad, and I didn't wanted Jake to get 'stuck' at my place again (see Actively passive) now that he had a boyfriend, I suggested that we meet in the city centre, since my public transport connection to there is great.

Jake was fashionably late and tried to act cool, but he let go of that attitude after a few minutes -- he always does. As it turned out, that there was no particular reason for him to meet me -- no reason is the best reason. Jake announced that he would only drink two alcoholic drinks and then go home again because he had to get up at six. Four vodka & cokes and three tequila shots later, he complained that I had to hurry to catch my last regular bus, but that he hated to break off the lovely evening. I took the last bus nonetheless. Though we promised to give each other a wake up call the next morning, I was the only one who remembered to do so -- I'm always reliable, for friends and enemies alike.

This would be my not-so-interesting story about boozing-with-Jake-on-a-weeknight if it weren't for some things that were said and done. Take the following conversation for instance.

Jackdaw: I'm seriously considering spending a few months exploring South America by motorbike.

Jake: South America never really appealed to me.

Jackdaw: From what I heard it's a beautiful continent, and the different cultures should be interesting.

Jake: The Mayan culture seems interesting to me...

Jackdaw: That's more Central America if I'm not mistaken, which would also be an interesting option. I have to discover how it works with renting a motorbike at one place and returning it in an other.

Jake: If that involves two different countries, it might be difficult.

Jackdaw: If I want it, other people must too, and so it has to be possible.

Jake: I thought you wanted to go to Australia. If you do, then wait for a year or two and we can do that together. I'd like that very much.

Jackdaw: Me too, but... shouldn't you go with Eddy?

Jake: Eddy's afraid of flying.

Jackdaw: That's something I don't want anymore: a boyfriend who's afraid of flying. I had that for eight years (see The skilled liar) and the only thing we could do was explore Europe by car. I wanna see more of the world and enjoy my freedom. Going to South America is a nice start. And it's a nice extra that I like Latinos and Latinos like me.

Jake: What do you mean, Latinos like you?

Jackdaw: Well, in general they like blonds; people here really don't.

Jake: I do. Eddy might have caramel skin as do the two guys I dated before him, but that's just coincidence. I actually like blond guys like you a lot.

Jackdaw: You're part of a small minority here. Blond is not a popular colour at all.

Jake: If I were you I would register at a dating agency.

Jackdaw: Huh?

Jake: Yeah, I have Eddy now, but I had been seriously considering it myself. If I were in my late twenties and single I'd certainly do it. Saves you from dating guys with no brains and stuff; they do the screening for you.

Jackdaw: I dunno. I'm quite shallow myself when it comes to looks...

Jake: If you tell 'em that, they will take that into account. I would do so if I were you.

Jackdaw: Maybe that's not a bad idea at all.

Jake: Just go, intake interview is usually free...

Jackdaw: Funny that after two relationships I got more picky when it comes to guys.

Jake: It's the same for me. I wouldn't want a boyfriend with a low libido ever again, for example. It's part of my selection criteria. I have no complaints about Eddy though.

Jackdaw: I know what you mean, I went crazy those eight years with Matthew. That's what's holding me back concerning Joe (see Jackpot?) -- apart from the distance, of course. He's got an extremely low libido. It just wouldn't work. It's more serious that the fear-of-flying thing. If I were in love, I probably wouldn't care much about that anymore.

Jake: Yeah, Matthew did have a low libido too, right?

Jackdaw: Well, his boyfriend seizes any opportunity to tell me they have sex on a daily basis. With me Matthew seemed to have a very low libido, but he cheated on me with thirty other guys. And he didn't do one-night stands!

Jake: Thirty!? You've probably told me this before, but I'm shocked. Better not put me and Matthew in the same room or I'll get very violent. You really didn't deserve to be treated that way.

---

Because Jake smokes, we were frequently standing outside. I joined him in smoking, although I knew I wasn't going to kiss him and that for me smoking multiplies the effect of the booze. I wonder why I smoked with him; I never smoke, except for that one time in Birmingham (see Oh, what a night [2 of 3]).

---

Jake: Eddy is very handsome, very much so.

Jackdaw: Yes, he looks good indeed. Are you in love with him?

Jake: Nope, and he's not in love with me either, judging from his behaviour.

Jackdaw: But,... you are boyfriends! I would think love is a prerequisite for that...

Jake: I do like him very much...

---

A year ago I tried to offer Jake a weekend trip to London, because he had told me he had always wanted to go there. He didn't accept my offer then. On this world trip next year he will start in London, and he asked me to spend a day with him there. I promised I would.

---

Jake: Why don't we do something nice together during Christmas? You parents are away, mine are too. We shouldn't sit be home alone then.

Jackdaw: Aren't you gonna celebrate it with Eddy and his family?

Jake: Hm, dunno. So, it's provisional, but let's celebrate Christmas together if we can.

Jackdaw: I may even have another guest too, although that's quite unlikely: David.

Jake: David, the guy-who-lies-about-everything David (see When words fail)?

Jackdaw: Yes. I invited him to join me for Christmas if he moves here. I don't think there is much chance of that happening, given the number of lies he's told me. But if he does show up, there will be enough truth for me to owe him the hospitality I promised. In that case, you'll meet him.

Jake: Threesome?

Jackdaw: Eddy will be so happy with you!

Jake: I'm joking of course, although David looks very hot... If I drink enough, I'd even let you join as well, hahaha... I really hurt you with that remark that time, didn't I (see An unnecessary insult)?

Jackdaw: Hurt, hurt... I was deeply insulted, that's right. And it wasn't even true!

Jake: You know you deeply insulted me too that evening?

Jackdaw: I did!?

Jake: You suggested that I was only interested in you for your money.

Jackdaw: You must have misunderstood. I cannot have said that about you, because I never thought that to be the case. I'm sorry if you got that impression. Now that we are talking about that evening anyway, it annoyed me that you didn't believe me when I said that I had never been in love with you. I didn't lie to you then. When we dated I did realise that you're someone I could fall in love with though. And I thought you were a very interesting guy -- still do.

Jake: If only you were ten years younger...

Jackdaw: You would want me to be younger than you!?

Jake: You'd still be a month older!

---

Jackdaw: You know what's always bother me? That we never really kissed.

Jake: We did, in the beginning!

Jackdaw: No, that was just a bit of nuzzling.

Jake: Well, at least you gotta do that other thing you like.

Jackdaw: Well, I haven't really fucked you either (see Bad trip and Excerpts from a night out).

Jake: I was talking about rimming. I thought that was special to you.

Jackdaw: Indeed, I'm not doing that with just anybody.

Funny how Jake understood that I enjoyed the rim jobs I gave him better than the ones I received from him. Maybe it's because he's a pleaser too.

Baby feet

It's dark outside when I leave for work, it's dark outside when I come home, and at the office the view out of the two tinted windows is directly into another office. My only chance to see daylight is on public transport. However, the bus and the subway are so packed with people that if you manage to get in it's hard to see the windows at all, which are fogged up anyway. Sometimes, however, I end up pressed against a fogged up window and then I can't help making baby footprints on it.

I must have been about eight years old when in the shower I 'invented' the baby footprints. Surprised by the result I often replicated it on other fogged up mirrors and windows. In fact, I still cannot resist doing it when there's a fogged up surface at hand -- it's just fun to be a kid again every now and then.

Here's how you do it. Make two fists and let them walk up a surface by pressing the side with the curled up baby finger against the surface: these are the sole prints -- I usually make four of them. Then align the tips of your fingers in a slight arc and press them against the surface just above the sole prints: these are the toe prints.

With a bit of practice this can be done very fast, and that's convenient in public places where you don't want to be caught playing with condensation -- it's just too embarrassingly childish. Maybe this is the most innocent form of graffiti and maybe I'm just an innocent bad boy.

You didn't know Jack

Exactly two weeks ago I followed Vlad's example and joined a flash blog mob where I presented eight statements about myself and it was up to the readers to identify the two false ones (see You don't know Jack).

Below I give you the solution.

1. I scored off the top of the scale on my national mathematics exam, but the grade was lowered to the highest on the scale for administrative reasons. When the same happened to a girl a year later, it was reported on the national news as unprecedented.

That is true. I guess the girl's school called the press to get some publicity and my school didn't do that. Years after I graduated, a recent student of my old mathematics teacher told me the guy still bragged about me to his classes -- and implicitly about himself of course. I think that's quite flattering.


2. I got into the empty seat of the captain, grabbed the yoke and rolled the plane to the right until its course had changed by about thirty degrees. The passengers on the plane, more than a hundred, were never told that a kid, not even old enough to drive a car, was at the controls.

That is true. I think I was six years old when I was on a plane to a destination far away, when for some reason I was invited in the cockpit and the captain stood up and let me sit in his seat. They told me to be very careful not to touch any of the buttons around me, so I held my hands against my chest. Then the co-pilot said I could carefully grab the yoke and steer to the right. Of course he was holding his own yoke which was connected to mine. This was clearly far before 9/11.


3. I'm kind of a celebrity in my country. Even though I've appeared on television twice, people don't recognise my face, but everyone knows my voice and my radio name. The biggest turnoff ever was, when during anonymous sex once, I said, "Almost there," and the guy responded, "Did you know you sound just like..."

That is false. I have never been on television. When I was ten I broadcast a program on the illegal radio station of my uncle, which had several thousands of listeners and was even the favourite station of the local police. I did nothing more than announce the songs. My parents, especially my dad, was an all-round DJ.


4. I was born with only one testicle, along with such world class dictators as Napoleon, Hitler and Franco.

That is true. One out of every ten thousand boys is born with only one testicle. I've even had an operation to check the other had just not gone down or if it were really missing: it was really missing. When I hit puberty I started to be ashamed of it and kept it a secret from then on. Nowadays, I'm don't feel shame anymore, but I want to prevent becoming a target of loads of easy jokes. My mother and my friends Harry (see Coming out: Harry) and Victor (see Butt buddies) are the only people who know this, and of course most of the people I slept with. I never say it before the sex, because they get focussed on it then. Only when I notice they are searching for it, I say something like "there's only one of those". Jake thought it was kinky and was turned on by it, but usually guys don't really care. In previous posts I described it as a scar. There is no scar; I was just afraid to be identified too easily.


5. I subscribed to two different newspapers for several years: one for the news, and one just for the horoscope. I based all my big decisions on that particular horoscope. On the days I first met each of my two former boyfriends, the horoscope paper was not delivered.

That is false. First of all, I never had a regular subscription to a newspaper, let alone two. Secondly, I don't believe in astrology at all. That being said, I have noticed that I seem to get along very well with Gemini, Libra and fellow Sagittarii, that Aquarii have often betrayed me, and that I have no patience with Pisces for they are more dreamers than doers. I never checked the statistical relevance of these observations of mine though.


6. I keep a detailed record of my sex partners, specifying name, sex, ethnicity, eye and hair colour, circumcision status, profession, sex location and activities, and the number of encounters. For the latter specification I only distinguish between 'once', 'twice' or 'more' because my biology teacher once joked that in biology the only counts that count are 'mono-', 'bi-' and 'poly-'.

That is true. A while after I broke up with Matthew I wondered how many people I had had sex with. I listed them, and have added new encounters ever since. Moreover, I have added more specifics over time. Somehow it never occurred to me that it would be more practical to include contact details instead of, for example, professions.


7. I'd rather attend a guided tour in a sewer than see a musical in a theatre. I actively avoid anything remotely connected to them. What annoys me most is when the actors burst out in an overly enunciated duet with pretentious lyrics in the middle of a fight or a love scene.

That is true. That excludes musical films, because I actually liked the West Side Story on film as a teenager; that's the only one. And no, I don't even like the Sound of Music.


8. I once created a large collection of puzzles for a handful of my pupils, and posted it on a special website for them. Within two months, it had become one of the most popular puzzle challenges on the internet, with over a million visitors from 65 different countries.

That is true. Four days after I put it online I had 2,241 new emails in my mailbox with only praise and donations. I was amazed.

An awful weekend

Two weeks ago I had an awful weekend.

Ever since I've returned from my trip to Ireland and the United Kingdom I seem to be losing contact with friends. My straight friends are very occupied with their girlfriends, children and careers. In the first week after I returned three of my gay friends told me that they were interested in more than friendship, and I told them I didn't feel that way (see The Jack of Hearts). Ned and Nadim have been avoiding me since and Jake is too busy with his new boyfriend. I started feeling a bit lonely.


Friday

Of course there's also Matthew and Joey, but since my fight with Joey I hadn't seen them for a while, even though they have no social life and we would try to meet up as soon as possible to talk it out (see Photo fight). So, after about a month I called them and suggested that we meet and go out together that very evening: I didn't feel like ending up on the sofa with them and the usual routine (see Photo fight). It would of course be a better set-up for talking things out, but I knew that Joey was not interested to do that anyway.

Because Joey's still in the closet, we couldn't go out in any of the cities nearby. Even on a reasonably quiet night as Friday night he's terrified to meet people he knows. And so we go to the least appealing city in the middle of a rural area at quite a distance from our homes. There was only two gay bars. One of them had more servers than drinkers and Joey hated the music in the second one.

It's my conviction that whatever the environment or music, you have to make the fun yourselves. However, Joey had a very specific idea how to have fun. He brought up Matthew's collection of stories of how he convinced strangers that he was a pilot, and wanted Matthew to do that again with people Joey picked out for him to fool. He didn't seem to realise that Matthew did that when he went out with his very assertive purser friend Dylan (see The skilled liar), so it had never been Matthew who initiated contact with strangers but Dylan. Moreover, he didn't understand that pilot was not a completely random profession and, most importantly, that you should never repeat old jokes.

Matthew became really annoyed and didn't say another word: that's the sign to leave him alone for a while. I tried to have fun with Joey until Matthew was ready to rejoin us, but Joey completely ignored me and tried to force Matthew into acting all happy. He said things like, "Matthew, hit on that little guy; tell him you're a pilot," until Matthew couldn't take it anymore and they had a fight again. They kept arguing for the rest of the evening.


Saturday

We got back home at about five in the morning and I slept until one in the afternoon. When I woke up, I saw Nadim online and I told him I felt a bit shut out by him. He responded that for the last two months he had been so busy that he hadn't had a single hour left to meet me. However, that evening he would be going to some club party alone and invited me to come too. I didn't like the party and the entrance fee was very high, so I tried to convince him to just go out together with me. He insisted that he had to go the party, with or without me; I said I'd think it over. The only reason for me to go to that party would be to see Nadim again, but sometimes you just have to invest in people.

I went out to get some groceries, and when I returned home I noticed that I had forgotten my key. Since there is really no other way to get in without causing a lot of damage, I had to call one of the two people with spare keys. My mother was at a party, and so I called Matthew, who came -- accompanied by Joey of course -- to let me in.

Late in the evening I decided that I would go to the party after all. I dressed up nicely, ran to the bus stop, and managed to catch the last bus to the city centre. On the bus I texted Nadim that I was on my way. He texted back that he had gone to visit a friend instead, but that he might show up at the party later on. At the next stop I got out of the bus, crossed the road and took the last bus back home, feeling terrible.


Sunday

I was horny and I longed to fuck again very much. I contacted this twenty-year-old athletic Arab bottom with whom I had had two sex dates during the summer, and on which he had no trouble at all taking my cock. He was not somebody who would ever become a close friend or more: it was simple lust on both sides.

The guy told me he didn't have time to meet up, because he had to study. I lured him a bit with an invitation to ride with me on my motorbike. He had never done that and couldn't resist the invitation, even if he only had one hour. I picked him up and asked him where he wanted to go. "To your home of course," he replied. He didn't enjoy the ride and wondered aloud why I didn't "just buy a car for that money", because it's "nice and warm, and far far safer".

At my place I fixed him a cappuccino and we talked a bit about his exams and his job -- in fact, he bored me to death, but he was an okay guy and the sex had been good the previous times. Suddenly he said, "I'm really sorry, I know we were going to have sex, but I'm really not in the mood. It's the exam stress, I think." I pretended I didn't mind.

After dropping him off again, I went straight home. I really needed real sex: jerking off just wouldn't satisfy me this time. And so I looked on the internet for a nice guy, but apparently no one was interested in me. I was about to give up when some guy contacted me. He was 29 years old and had a very muscular body, though I didn't care for his face much, which is usually my first focus. It seemed that I would have to readjust my criteria and forget about from my extremely high standards if I wanted to get laid.

After only a few messages he said he wanted to meet up for a sex date. The same day didn't seem possible since it was already past four o' clock and he was having dinner with some friends at six. However, we were both too horny to pass the chance. I jumped on my bike and rode to his place.

The door was open and I walked in. He was far cuter than he looked in his photos and was somehow a bit familiar. Earlier that day I had had a chat with Sam, who was arguing that good looks always engendered arrogance in a guy (see My Jackeen), something I didn't want to take as a rule of thumb but which I've seen confirmed quite a few times. This muscle man was a great counter-example. While guys like him are usually looking for guys with similar bodies, he was only interested in guys with an average build. Also, muscled guys love showing off with their bodies, but he didn't do that at all. In fact, when we had sex he kept his shirt on. I actually wanted him to take it off, but I thought he might have a good reason to leave it on -- probably because he disliked guys focussing on his muscles instead of sex.

He was a pleaser and gave me a hell of a blow job. I returned the favour and we alternated in several positions. I still consider myself a top (see Top/Bottom/Versatile), but man did I long to be fucked by him, with his two strong arms beside my shoulders and his... well you get the picture. I haven't felt quite that way with anyone I have had sex with in the last two years; I have always wanted to fuck them.

Anyway, alas, there was no time for fucking, and we had to hurry to cum before it got too late. Afterwards, we talked a bit while getting dressed, and it wasn't until then that I -- embarrassingly -- asked his name: Jerry. Only once before have I not known a trick's name before sex. That was with another muscle god in the gay sauna about half a year ago (see Mucked up self-image). In fact, that guy's name was also Jerry... Wait a minute, that's where I knew him from: this Jerry was that Jerry. I was too embarrassed to ask him whether he remembered our prior round.

I came home and still had the feeling I needed to fuck. Damn!