LXIV. The Seven Guys I Met In New York

“I’m under absolutely no obligation to make sense to you.”

– Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

During a cold shower on a mediocre afternoon in lockdown, I was brave enough to dream of the post-pandemic world. I dreamed of living in a universe where the virus didn’t affect our lives anymore. I promised myself that when it happened, I needed to be courageous, unafraid to feel everything that the world threw my way. To embrace a warm touch, to ache from heartbreaks, and to dance the pain away — I wanted to experience them all. I promised myself to savor each moment as if everything I had in life would disappear after the sun rose. I promised myself to be authentic, to enjoy every moment the way I would have wanted to.

When that dream was suddenly about to come true, I was overwhelmed. I felt like a domesticated puppy living in a golden cage about to be thrown into a concrete jungle. I was not, physically and mentally, ready for New York.

My butthole certainly wasn’t ready.

Before I proceed, I probably should address the elephant in the room. I am aware of the backlash I might receive from publicly disclosing my borderline reckless excursion to "The Big Apple" in the middle of a global pandemic.

First of all, I had an undisclosable yet legit excuse to travel to NYC. I didn't go there for the sole purpose of getting fucked in the ass. And as much as I wanted to, there's no way I could justify spending money to fly across the world to ride a biracial dick on a rooftop bar overlooking the Hudson Yards. 

Secondly, I tried my very best to follow the health protocols at all times. But I know what you might be thinking: "What the fuck is this bitch talking about? There's no way he would suck a dick with a mask on!" 
Sweetie, if you come here looking for moral integrities, you are most likely in the wrong place.

In conclusion, please get vaccinated and keep following the health protocols so we can get over this pandemic. I need to start being a full-time ho again.

Like a C-suite officer in a capitalistic society, I gave myself an unrealistic KPI target for the minimum amount of dicks I needed to encounter on my short getaway. I didn’t do this because I was an acute sex addict. Like, of course I wouldn’t say no to a genuine guy who wants to foster any form of a long-term connection with me. But part of me felt like I had a lot of catching up, especially with all these months abstaining from sex. I also felt like I needed to maximize my time and get my hands on as many things in New York, literally and figuratively. But yes, I mostly missed having someone complimenting my ample skills and telling me I’m beautiful for two hours straight.

Tequila always says I’m cute too

I just need to explain this particular thought process, as it plays a significant role in the story development moving forward. There’s also the possibility that I might just be scared of being lonely, and I probably should talk to my therapist about this.

In chronological order, here are the stories about the seven guys I met in New York:


Guy #1

I had Guy #1 in my hotel room six hours after landing at the JFK airport. He’s got this tall and slim build with a decent amount of body hair in all the right places. Also, his hotel was only a thousand feet away from me, which worked in my favor when I was eagerly trying to get him to do some nasty stuff with me. To my surprise, it only took me fifteen minutes to convince this present-day, tattooless Adam Levine knockoff to come over.

I was finally about to have sex again, and it made me euphoric as fuck.

P.S. Scoring a hookup in a big city like New York or Los Angeles has a distinctive victorious feeling to it. Like, with all these devastatingly beautiful men with the most perfect chiseled abs around, yet you still choose me to have sex with? How awesome is that?! 

In hindsight, the sex might have been above-average at best. That said, it was the first time I had anything up my ass after months of being depressed at home. And I was stoned as fuck. So at that moment, everything felt cinematic and beyond. The way he sensually took off his shirt, gently caressed my ass, and thoroughly pleasured every inch of me– everything was otherworldly. And the mirror reflection of him “embracing” me from behind was a mental image I want to treasure for the rest of my life. 

However, everything didn’t go as planned. I was so aroused that I completely forgot about how my butt had received zero action for months. And when it was finally the time to put it back to work, my rear part was a bit rusty. There were times when taking him in some basic positions got challenging. At one point, I think I saw bloodstains on my sheet. It was a struggle. *I’m not saying his member was small. In fact, he’s got a beautiful “boyfriend dick” that’s manageable for daily usage. But let’s just say I could have taken it with ease during my glory days.*

However, with a bit of patience and rigorous breathing exercises, I managed to pull through.

And my God, it was all worth the pain.

He left my hotel room shortly after some talks and cuddles. The old me would have felt slightly melancholic due to his lack of intention to build an emotional connection with me. However, at that moment, I could not care less. When he closed my hotel door on me, I felt triumphant. I forgot how good real sex actually was. I got so comfortable with the expertise of my left hand in pleasing my sexual needs that I did not remember how good a human touch could feel. Having a dick up my ass again after so long felt divine, and my post-coital skin glowed brighter than the lights in Times Square. And I thought, “if this was the standard of how New York gays perform in bed, I might need an anal surgery after this trip.”

Oh, did I mention he’s partnered? I need to say this as it would be a recurring theme throughout my journey (I hate using this word) in New York.

Dear gay couples, call me if you need a recurring third

Guy #2

Guy #2 was an interesting character. He’s an adorable hottie with an old soul, an affinity for recreational marijuana, and a beautifully complicated mind. Oh, and we hung out three times and had zero sex.

Yup, you read it right: zero sex. But I did get to see Guy #2’s penis for less than 15 seconds.

From our initial chat, he came across as someone who would be open to exploring connections outside of the bedroom. He’s got all the things I generally find attractive in a guy: over six feet tall, decent athletic build, and serviceable fashion taste that won’t upstage mine. But what won me over was his charm. When we were discussing the logistics of our meetup, he sounded genuinely excited to see me. This guy brought me emotional joys.

I just realized how sad this sounds, how I got overly excited for a guy who shows a basic level of human decency. This is how you know your past dating experiences were fucked up.

He did, however, mention that, in bed, he’s exclusively interested in making out and jerking off together. Penetrative sex was out of the equation with this guy. When asked, he didn’t specifically explain what we were gonna do when we hang out.

“Let’s just see how it goes,” Guy #2 said.

And to that, I said, “cool bro, I’m a pretty chill guy.”

Guy #2 came to my hotel in the evening, and we ended up smoking a joint in my room. I liked that he always understood my POV, especially with the jokes I threw around. He always had some insightful or entertaining responses to my nonsensical rants. I remember one evening where we had an eye-opening and life-changing discourse. We were arguing on the correlation between someone’s personality and their choice of a cup or a cone when ordering ice cream. I was relieved to find we were both a “cup” person, and that’s how I knew I really fancied this guy.

Date numero uno went, in my opinion, splendidly as we planned to meet again later this weekend for a cute stroll around Central Park. However, I was shocked when Guy #2 called me the next day and said something along the line of the following:

“I don’t think we should hang out anymore. I know you’re only visiting, and I’m afraid I would be sad when you have to leave.”

Yeah, I know… there’s a lot to unpack here. First and foremost, Guy #2 could’ve just taken the easy way out and blocked my number or ghosted me, but he didn’t. I truly appreciated his honesty, and the fact that he had the courtesy to communicate his feeling via phone was admirable. That said, what the fuck? I was not expecting Guy #2 to get emotional about this situationship this early on. I mean… I was not opposed to the idea of us turning into a boring old gay couple, but I knew what I signed up for. I enjoyed his presence in my life, so shouldn’t that be enough?

Besides, I’m a trashy drama queen with psychopathic tendencies. You’d be glad I won’t stick around for too long.

Suddenly, I snapped. After two glasses of gin and tonic, I gave Guy #2 a surprisingly heartfelt and overly dramatic speech over the phone:

"This has been surreal to me. For the longest time, the pandemic had me living with fear. I was afraid of hurting the people I loved. Most nights, I forced myself to be okay with living alone with my imaginations. It wasn't until the last few months when I finally got comfortable with the solitude. That I accepted the abstain of experiencing the ups and downs of life. I felt nothing, and I almost forgot how joyful life used to be. 

And now, here I am... living the life I had only dared to dream for so long. I'm sorry if this whole visiting thing concerns you, and I totally get it. Sadness is painful, I know. But I promised to feel anything life throws my way because I know how empty I felt before. The happiness, the heartbreak, all of it. I want to experience them all. Life could change in the blink of an eye, and I have no time being afraid of going for what I want.
 
Besides, when you hurt from a goodbye like this, that's how you know you're saying goodbye to someone wonderful. And I'd rather feel that than nothing at all." 

Or something like that. I definitely sounded less like a pretentious poet in real life, considering how intoxicated I was.

My unnecessarily theatrical speech worked, but not quite to its maximum potential. After my relatively successful word vomit, I expected Guy #2 to immediately pounce on me and start ripping my shirt off. But instead, I had to settle for two more intimate evenings with some cheap tequila and top-notch prerolls. Those nights, however, were some of my favorite moments in New York. We biked through the picturesque Greenwich Village, had some world-famous NY-style pizza, and downed too many margaritas inside a jukebox gay bar in East Village. The hustle and bustle of Chrystie Street couldn’t bother us– we were two fortunate souls blessed with two evenings that belonged to us. Everything just felt easy with him, and Guy #2 was someone I could easily see myself falling in love with. 

Oh, and I forgot to mention there was a moment where he whipped out his penis out of nowhere, sniffed some poppers, and jerked himself off for approximately fifteen seconds. On a separate occasion, we were watching porn together. So yeah… that’s the short story on how I randomly saw his dick in the flesh.

Maybe this is why people really love summer flings. You’re basically experiencing a heightened version of exotic romance without the heartache of a fading emotional attachment. It’s like… a relationship that exists for a short-term in a parallel universe, and you only get to experience the honeymoon days. You get to love someone as a version of you that is stripped away from your past. And once it’s over, you get to go back to your “normal” life as if nothing happened. But for a few summer nights, life is glorious. It’s just you, the other person, and some hypnotic dance beats blasted through the speakers in a fancy Manhattan rooftop bar.

For Guy #2 and I, maybe this is for the best.

Because heaven forbid how traumatized he would get once he knew the real me.

Tricking people into thinking I have my shit together is my favorite pastime

Guy #3

I don’t remember much about Guy #3, as our encounter was only a short-lived evening romance. He’s in his late 30s, had a boyfriend, and appeared to me as someone who mostly had his shit together. After we did the deed, I remember feeling overwhelmed because everything about Guy #3 was a bit too… excessive? The kiss was a bit too aggressive, the handgrips were a bit too hard, and the dick was a bit too thick. I mean, don’t get me wrong– his overall performance was satisfactory, and he made sure I felt comfortable during the entire session. But let’s just say I had better lovemaking sessions in the past.

My butthole was so sore after he pounded me into oblivion, and I finally realized I’m probably way too old to indulge in this promiscuous lifestyle anymore.

I know better not to make a joke about me being a cum dumpster

Guy #4

I met Guy #4 precisely two hours after Guy #3 finished destroying my ass. Guy #4 was also visiting New York from San Francisco, and he was conveniently staying in an Airbnb two blocks away from my hotel. 

Remember earlier when I said I wanted to take every moment in life by the balls? I meant it, *literally*

Even though I was *allegedly* exhausted from walking around town and taking a massive dick up my ass one hour prior, the people-pleaser side of me felt like I owed Guy #4 my time. He had been texting me from the previous evening, and we had planned to meet that day. Although he only replied to my three messages at 10 PM, I still felt a slight responsibility to meet him. I am a man of my words, so it would be shitty of me to bail on him. I was just trying my best to stay true to who I was and kept my integrity intact.

Look at me, writing an actual paragraph to justify my decision to be a ho. 

I already asked Guy #4 to postpone our slumber party because I was stoned out of my mind. But he didn’t care. He suggested we could just have a quick chat and go with the flow (I know… what a classic fuckboi response). So I thought, “Okay, I’m just gonna go there with no expectation. And in case I get murdered, well… I’ve already lived a good life!”

After five minutes of wandering around a creepy alleyway in East Village, I finally saw Guy #4 in the flesh. And he’s cute. Not the kind of cute that immediately drops you to your knees, but a decent sort of pretty face that you don’t mind sitting on. 

Now, here’s the thing about Guy #4: he’s excellent at communicating with his body, but not so much verbally. Often, his suggestions came across more like instructions.

Instead of saying, “do you want some water?” 
He said, “here, take this glass of water!” 

Instead of saying, “do you wanna chat on the balcony?” 
He said, “let’s sit on the balcony, and I’d aggressively caress your back for thirty minutes!”

But I didn’t mind. In fact, it was lovely as fuck.

The semi-outdoor cuddling with Guy #4 on his balcony was probably one of the highlights of my trip. It was a special moment– two people from opposite worlds enjoying the dazzling lights of Manhattan skyscrapers with our hands intertwined. Although the ambiance was very romantic and intimate, however, our conversation was superficial. But I couldn’t care less. At that moment, I felt like a lost hero in a romantic movie getting his well-deserved happiness, and I wanted to be in his arms forever. I was filled with love, joy, and too much THC.

We moved things into the bedroom, and Guy #4 quickly informed me that he was too exhausted to engage in any sexual activity. Instead, he suggested if I wanted to spoon naked in bed, to which I happily obliged. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, we were passionately making out. The next thing I knew, my face was two inches away from his grey Calvin Klein boxer brief. And when “my grand prize” was revealed, I was relieved to know it wouldn’t reach anywhere close to my butthole.

Y’all, his penis was motherfucking huge. 

And Guy #4 made sure I knew how gigantic his dick was by constantly reminding me of it. The famous catchphrase he repeated to the point of nausea was, “you like that big dick, huh?” 

Since I couldn’t depend on my critically-acclaimed bussy to do the job, I was forced to take care of his “Empire State Building” with my mouth. And I believed my lips did the job just fine. How do I know, you might ask? I knew I did a respectable job taking care of his humongous dick because of the five shots of warm man juice that went straight down my throat.

He did offer me to stay the night at his place, but at that point, I was too exhausted and just wanted to sleep in my own bed. I guess two dicks and 10 mg of THC in four hours really took its toll on me.

I look kawaii as fuck with a dick in my mouth

Guy #5

Guy #5, in theory, was the best lover amongst the elite and prestigious group of men I “dated” in New York. We listened to the same podcast, were both 420-friendly, and, most importantly, had undeniable sexual chemistry. If someone showed Guy #5’s picture to my friends, they wouldn’t be surprised that I was dating him. Physically speaking, he’s someone I usually find attractive. He’s got a decently built body that didn’t belong to someone who lived in a gym. His penis size was slightly above average, which was a relief after the three penises I had taken, one way or another. On paper, he’s the perfect man for me.

Before he came over, he did mention he had a prior engagement in an hour. I was slightly bothered by the time limit, but I managed to stay professional and progressed in life with a positive attitude and an allegedly clean butthole.

But then, there’s THE SEX.

I knew we literally just met like five minutes ago, but it felt like Guy #5 had learned about my body for as long as he had lived. When the showtime came, I was pleasantly surprised by what he could do with his body parts. His caresses had a purpose. His kisses were passionately delicate. His tongue was magical. Everything. Felt. Fucking. Right.

And honey… Guy #5 made sure he took his sweet ass time worshipping my body. He made me feel like the sultriest, the sexiest, the most exquisite creature on earth. Me, the previously referenced creature who just downed a bowl of Orange Chicken in Panda Express two hours prior.

As lovely as our cuddling session was, I needed things to progress. However, I knew I didn’t have much time, with Guy #5 having to leave in fifteen minutes. So, instead of performing an entire album of my sexual prowess, I decided to only give him a taste of the EP. I directed all my energies to my lips and went to town on that D. And suddenly, after one literal minute the tip of his “member” entered my beloved orifice, he came. 

You read that right. One. Fucking. Minute.

I hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.

Nevertheless, I’d rate the whole experience an 8/10; the cuddling was so phenomenal that I could look past his ejaculation mishap. It’s a shame the hookup didn’t go the way I wanted, but judging from the way he spooned me, Guy #5 seemed to know what he’s doing in bed. And for now, I could only imagine how magical it would’ve been for his *Statue of Liberty* to enter my *Holland Tunnel*.

I put the gas in orgasm

Guy #6

Guy #6 was my last-ditch attempt to make my last night in New York memorable. After Guy #2 and I hugged each other goodbye, I lounged on my hotel bed alone, feeling slightly defeated, moderately drunk, and extremely stoned. If it was a regular weekday evening, I would have just called it a night and slept my sadness away. However, it was my last night in New York. I was determined to end the trip on a high note, doing epic things that required a minimum amount of energy to engage in awkward social interactions. So intuitively, at 11 PM on a Thursday night, I took a leap of faith and went to my constantly dependable friend, Grindr. 

Yes, I was desperate. 

To begin this compliment sandwich session, let’s start with the things Guy #6 did right. He made sure I always remembered that I was physically flattering. On more than one occasion that evening, he verbally expressed all forms of pleasure I gave him. The non-exhaustive list of praises Guy #6 gave me includes:

  • “You’re adorable.”
  • “I didn’t expect you to be such a great kisser.”
  • “I would want to take you back home to ******* (state name censored due to privacy concern) and introduce you to my family.”

Yup. Those were his words, not mine. 

Guy #6 was giving me just a tiny bit of a psycho vibe. Like, I wouldn’t want to introduce a guy to my family if our fifteen-minute interaction only revolved around some nipple licks and an intense cuddling session. Who does that?!

But then again, it was my last night in New York. I put this pressure on myself for my last evening in New York to be fucking cinematic, a romantic scene in a classic, NY-inspired rom-com movie. So instead of kicking him out right then and there, I tried my best to persevere. I managed to survive his barrage of praises and kisses, and I could sense him getting a bit tired. He suggested for us to spoon for a while, and I thought, “Why not? Might as well, since we’re already here.”

Suddenly, he started snoring. Right behind my ears. And the snores were fucking loud.

It initially didn’t bother me because I also fell asleep for an hour or so. The snores eventually irritated the shit out of me because they prevented me from going back to sleep. I felt bothered as fuck. It was certainly not how I planned to spend my last hours in New York. I was likefuck it. I wanted this guy out of my hotel room right at this second.

So, I rudely woke the bitch up at 4.30 AM and told him to leave. Yes, I know that I’m shitty as fuck.

In retrospect, I stand by that decision. I did what I had to do– if I had to listen to Guy #6’s snores for another fifteen minutes, I would have lost my damn mind. He actually texted me the next afternoon, apologizing for falling asleep during our cuddle session. And I couldn’t help feeling more shitty for making him leave at 4.30 AM. For all I know, Guy #6 could have turned out to be the most fantastic guy that got away. But looking back, I had zero regrets. Because I did what I did, I was in prime shape for my encounter with Guy #7.

AMEN

Guy #7

Guy#7 was an olive-skinned sex god.

Have you ever seen someone and thought, “there’s no way a guy like him would be attracted to someone like me!” He was so out of my league, and that’s why I was genuinely shocked when he expressed interest in having an afternoon quickie with me. Judging from his pictures, Guy #7 was the definition of beauty. I could probably spend hours talking about his breathtaking jawlines or his defined pectoral muscles. His exterior was sculpted by Greek gods themselves; I wouldn’t be surprised if he told me he was a model.

**Editor's note: After hours of investigation, I could confirm that he's, indeed, a model. Or used to be, whatever. My point is, this guy is fucking gorgeous.**

I should probably mention that Guy #7 came to my hotel room five hours before my flight.

When I picked him up at the hotel lobby, I was awestruck. First of all, he’s not a catfish (thank God, I really should’ve thought of this possibility more). He was drop-dead gorgeous, and he’s only wearing a pair of gym shorts and a dark blue Lululemon t-shirt. And that body… My God… His body looked sickening as fuck. When I was walking next to him, I felt like a scrawny peasant. Guy #7 was so fine that he turned heads around and drew all attention to him.

And this obliteratingly beautiful hunk wanted to fuck me. That’s right, ME.

Before I start writing two paragraphs about how mind-blowing the sex was with Guy #7, I wanted to mention something. A thing that tainted the experience for me was the body odor. Like, one time, I couldn’t help but gag (not in an affirmative way) when my face was two inches away from his “jungle down there” because the smell was rather unpleasing. But I couldn’t put it against him either. He was going to the gym, and I made him skip the gym for a series of “horizontal exercises.” 

This was definitely not Guy #7’s first rodeo. It’s like… he just knew how to make me feel good without even trying. The tempo, the dominance, the tenderness: everything was perfect. Due to the size of his shaft, taking him from behind was a challenge in the beginning. But this ravishing man made sure I felt comfortable instead of shaming my subpar dick-riding ability. He even suggested we tried many different positions to make sure I felt more at ease. And during those times of trials and errors, he showered me with passionate kisses and gentle caresses. He ensured every inch of my body felt the warmth of his affection. Y’all, I was transported to heaven. 

He even licked my feet, y’all. Guy #7, a guy who could have easily had any guy he wanted, chose to lick my feet. Mine.

Guy #7 didn’t immediately leave after he ejaculated. We took a shower together, had some small talks, and began to plan how our future would look like (okay, that last part is a complete lie). He started talking about his boyfriend, and that’s when I went back to earth after spending some time in delusion land. It’s a shame that he’s already in an open relationship. I will go to war if that’s what it takes to have him worshipped my body once more. And yes, he’s the fourth guy I met in New York who claimed to be in an open relationship. That basically means 57% of the men in my sample group were already shacked up. Isn’t that fascinating?!

One thing I would do differently in life? Stop letting my dick make major life decisions

Key Takeaways:

  • New York has a lot of horny gay men. No matter how specific my Grindr filter was, I still had guys 3000 feet away who showed up on my profile.
  • Is everyone in an open relationship nowadays?! 
  • Do these men live in a gym or something? Do they know of a potential zombie apocalypse that we average Joes have no idea about? Because looking at their bodies, they look like they’re ready to fight in a war!
  • NY-style pizza should be considered a national treasure. 
  • I no longer put my blog on my Grindr profile. Yet somehow, a random guy messaged me on Grindr and told me he reads my blog. He began giving me compliments, saying how hilarious it is and how it deserves to go viral (his words, not mine). I don’t know how he could recognize me, but I’m amazed how people still remember my blog! It definitely lit a fire under my ass, and I need to step up my writing game.
  • If you ask me, the best thing to do in New York is to get stoned, take an Uber, and just enjoy the ride. One time, I teared up a bit when I was sitting in the backseat of an Uber on my way to Central Park. Nothing truly beats the majestic view of the Manhattan Skyline. 
  • If you’re new in town, and a guy comes up to you and seems way too eager to hook up with you, be careful. You never know… he might turn out to be a messy bitch who runs a sex blog. And he will write nasty shit about you.

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