Many of us have been there, done that, and lived to almost immediately regret it. We’ve been so desperately horny that we’ve either fallen into bed with the next charmer we meet, or we’ve hit up an old friend to cash in on benefits.
Thomas, a 31-year-old Polish artist I met in Kraków, opted for the latter when he re-entered the sexual world after months of celibacy. Unfortunately, getting off by bottoming for an old flame didn’t get him much satisfaction.
“I felt like I’d been raped,” Thomas said to me as he recounted the encounter. “It’s hard to explain. It wasn’t rape. It was consensual, but I still felt powerless and used.”
Part of it, he explained, was taking the submissive role. Although it hadn’t made him uncomfortable in the past, this time it left him feeling particularly vulnerable. More un-empowering, though, was the complete absence of emotional connection, a numbness that exacerbated the effect of his physical position.
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Would he have been better off keeping his clothes on and sticking to kissing and cuddling?
I can’t say I’ve ever had a post-coital reaction as extreme as Thomas’s, but I could relate to what he told me. I often have felt somewhat icky and used at the end of sexual encounters–even those with not-so-strangers–like I was merely a body, not a person, to the other guy.
Usually, I don’t blame him. I’ve had my share of pushy partners, but every decision I’ve ever made in bed ultimately has been my own. To screw or not to screw, that is the question, and how I choose to answer it is all on me.
I know that ambivalence is typically a given with casual consensual sex. What’s love–or even just genuine affection–got to do with it? I’ve learned to accept that. But after decades of settling when I am in between boyfriends, and after more than five years single, I’ve ended up in the throes of sexual ennui. I became so tired of going through the motions in bed and on couches that I’m now flirting with celibacy myself.
My recent boundaries–kissing and cuddling with my clothes on–don’t always go over so well on Grindr. The apps have made hooking up so easy, raising everyone’s expectations. We approach each other with laundry lists of requirements and must-do’s that we didn’t carry with us into bars and clubs a decade ago.
As I told Thomas, I was never asked “Top or bottom?” by a guy with my clothes on until my first time on a gay dating site (Gaydar, back in the day). As long as there are gay men who continue to view sex with people they meet online and off as “transactional” (which was how a married friend once described his extramarital hook-ups, mostly arranged via Grindr), some of us will feel ripped off. If we’re looking for more than our “money’s worth,” even just a trace of tenderness, we might end up feeling cheated… or used… or, in cases as extreme as Thomas’s, raped.
Has the Grindr age of transactional sex, where instant gratification is literally at our fingertips and the sex script is often written before the first meeting, left some of us wanting a different kind of more?
How many of us have been hooking up and going further than we’d like to because we’re starved for real affection and hope to stumble upon it by accident?
Side-eye and resistance sometimes come my way when I announce, “No sex,” but I’ve been surprised by how many gay men are looking for the same thing: more from less.
My most sensual and satisfying recent dates–like the one I had with Thomas–have begun with smart conversation and ended with kissing and cuddling only. Our clothes stay on, and no-one says goodbye feeling used, or raped.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but I think the reason why sex was leaving me largely unsatisfied was because I was behaving like a virgin in high school who sleeps with her first boyfriend because she thinks that’s the only way to keep him interested. Sometimes I’ve been so hungry for more than just a human touch that I’ve made concessions, hoping to also make a human connection.
The kissing and touching lift me higher and higher until we both fall into familiar roles: His hand ends up on my crotch, and he fumbles with my zipper, while I resist initially, only to give in eventually. I know I’ll probably never see him again either way, but for that moment, I’m so caught up in the pleasure of his non-platonic company that I let him have his way.
Sometimes I’m resentful afterwards. Why do so many gay men seem to think we can only connect with our clothes off? But recently, I’ve had enough dates with guys who were OK with not going all the way and still wanted to see me again to make me rethink my common assumptions.
I don’t want to feel used anymore, so for the foreseeable future, I’ll be keeping my pants up. It’s sure to weed out a lot of horny guys on Grindr, but that’s OK. For the most part, I’ve been staying fully clothed on dates over the past six months, and I’ve never heard back from so many guys.
I’ve logged days, weeks, and months in 20 European countries since October of 2017, and I’ve gone out with dozens of men I met through Grindr and everyday life. The ones I’m still in touch with–the ones who’ve taken me on tours through their cities and continue to check in from time to time–are mostly the ones with whom I didn’t have sex.
So while I may still lose some (all those one-track-minded “Fun?” and “Looking?” boys), for now, less is giving me so much more.
surreal33
The most damaging, sad, shallow, narrative is that gay men are indoctrinated to believe sex is the core of life.
Chrisk
In your 20s it is the core of life for both straight and gay. In the thirties less so. In the 40s less so, etc, etc.
Jeremy prefers young white dudes and then b*tches about how sexually driven they are. They all just want me for my B.B.C. I’m not just another piece of meat darnit! Ha Maybe he should try dating guys around his own age. Just a thought…
Tombear
My husband and I are once a weekers these days. I guess this is what happens when your marriage settles in.
mr guy
There’s always a high degree of nauseating humblebragging and narcissism in this guy’s articles, marring what might otherwise have been thoughtful topics
pianomeister
Agree with you on this. I read it not knowing what to expect, but I came away feeling like this person thinks an awful lot of themselves…… But hey, everybody – you do you, or whatever it is that the kids say these days.
bobbibubbi
I won’t comment on the “narcissism” but will comment on what I find is a disturbing emergence of celebrating/intellectuatlizing/cowering behind/feeling vilified and empowered by victimhood. There almost seems to be these days, a proud joy in proclaiming one’s self a “victim” of circumstances beyond their control. And these circumstances…used to be back in the day they were true evils that definitely left you a *victim*…say a gay basher that busted your eye. Nowadays apparently uncontrollable carnal urges and an inability to make good life choices are enough to qualify as “victim-makers”. As I type this I’m shaking my head at how grumpy-old I sound (I’m only 40!) but sometimes I read peaces like this and I just want to scream out: “oh give me a break gays! we’ve got major battles to fight”.
Zenzuva
Nobody cares.
chase_boston
we were left in the cold for so long — so hungry and thirsty — that we forgot to take care of our heart with ourselves and others — S&M a study in patriarchy is not a solution but a further enslavement within this vicious cycle of control — innerstanding when to use thrust comes naturally when one is in tune with one´s partner — who is your daddy — claim yourself.
Aires the Ram
I won’t comment on the author of this article, but I will give my general observations.
I’m a man who likes men. Period. I’ve been so for the last 40 years, actively.
Here’s what the hook-up applications get you: sex right now
Here’s what the hook-up applications DON’T get you:
1. The fine art and pleasure and excitement of “cruising”. The young ones have no clue what that is.
2. The fine art of conversation with guys you’ve just met while out-and-about.
3. The idea of taking a shower, cleaning up, dressing decent, and going out to a venue where you just might meet a nice guy. (take note of #1 & #2 above)
4. The fine art of having the discipline and upbringing and decorum to speak decently to somebody you just met (if it’s mutual), rather than “unfriending” or “logging off” or saying nasty things to him through the keyboard.
Calling somebody who just doesn’t quite fit your idea of “perfect” a bunch of derogatory names is quite easy from the safety of your home and computer screen, quite another matter when they’re looking you in the eye.
I think this instant hook-up phone-app business is dividing us, alienating us from one another, segmenting us into a thousand ‘groups’ (how many more letters must we add to LGBT?)
Don’t get me wrong, when we were pioneers in profile-based websites 20 years ago, all of that brought a whole lot of people together who would have never had the chance to meet, and it was a wonderful thing, I benefited greatly from it myself. But now we’re going in the opposite direction.
Here’s the “One more thing”: We’re not ‘victims’ of anything, we’re free to make our own choices on how to live our lives. Being a professional “victim” and wearing it on your sleeve, will leave you very lonely and very miserable.
Tombear
When I was a young Marine I loved to cruise for men in adult bookstores. Loved all the sex I got there. Men being men getting a nutt together!
Lacuevaman
no one phucks you better than you phuck yourself
miserylovedme24
““I felt like I’d been raped,” Thomas said to me as he recounted the encounter. “It’s hard to explain. It wasn’t rape. It was consensual, but I still felt powerless and used.””
This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard and it’s one of the reasons why actual rape victims struggle. You had consensual sex with someone. Period. You have absolutely no right to say that you “felt like you’d been raped” because you hadn’t. Consensual sex does not equal rape, end of discussion.
johnnymcmxxx
Once per month is sufficient for me.
DrEvel1
For all those of you who are “weary of sex” and “need a break” – just wait until you are in your 70s, a bit overweight, and somewhat ED-prone. Then you can have all the no-sex you want, and a great deal more. For many years after I came out in my mid-30s (following more then 20 years of carefully self-orchestrated repression), sex was a significant part of my life. I enjoyed my opportunities for it, both within relationships and outside them (always with everyone’s full consent). It didn’t define me, but it did make up a definable component of my identity.
For the reasons mentioned above and a few others, sex is no longer much of a component of my identity. If I thought at all about this part of my life beforehand, I certainly never thought that I would actually miss sex as much as I do. I suppose that I thought that it would just gradually fade away and heal itself. Instead, it’s more like the cigarettes I gave up close to 40 years ago, and that from time to time I still acutely miss – only more frequently. I’m not even sure it makes sense to identify myself as “gay” any more – why bother, except for the occasional shock value?
Trust me, you will arrive at the no-sex part of your life a good deal sooner than you want or anticipate. I hope that you all handle it better than I have done – but I rather doubt it.