Sunday, September 13, 2009

How do you tell someone you're not interested in them halfway through having sex?

It's hard enough to tell someone you're not keen on them at the best of times. Imagine, then, how difficult it would be to say "thanks, but no thanks" when you're inches from jumping into bed.

That was this weekend's surreal experience.

I met a guy at a club, and under the soft glow of yellow lights and the drunken haze I was in, he looked good. Five hours later when everything started to wear off - the alcohol, and my patience - I realised I didn't want to have anything to do with the guy at all.

Everything he did - aggressive kissing, hard cock sucking, moans and other sex noises - they all made me cringe. Likewise, once he'd lifted his shirt I could tell he didn't know what the inside of a gym looked like, and he had a bellybutton piercing - this, on a guy, is the ultimate deal breaker for me. It is the pinnacle of FAGGOT. I'm being crude, but honestly, have you ever seen a bellybutton ring look hot on a guy? Think about it? it's likely that if you have, it was on a muscly male model with an 8 pack, not on an early-thirties gay guy who was soft around the edges. 

Suddenly I found everything about this guy incredibly ugly, a total boner shrinker. In a flash I decided that he needed to leave (hey, I'm a slut with standards ok?) but how do you tell someone that you don't want to fuck them when they're on their knees gagging for it?

"Sorry man, I don't want to sleep with you tonight," was all I could muster.

"What?" he asked incredulously, like I'd made some not-very-funny joke.

"Yeah... sorry. I'm not interested."

"Then why did you invite me over?? Are you serious?" He had a right to be pissed. I would have been too. But hey, it's my right to not add an ugly person to my list. This was the crucial moment though. Should I be nice and just keep up the feeble lie, or let loose with the truth - off like a bandaid - and be done with it all.

I decided to go down the nice road. I didn't want to crush this guy, but what I really wanted/needed to say was:

"I invited you over because I was drunk, but now that I'm relatively sober I can see that you're not someone I'd ever consider fucking in my life. Like, N.E.V.E.R. Furthermore, fuck you and your annoyed reaction. My mind is made up. Do you still want to have sex with someone who's repulsed by the idea of even touching you?"

The scene was out of this world. I shouldn't have brought him home, but hey - drugs and alcohol do funny things to anyone.

The worst thing about lying, even when you're trying to be kind in the process, is that it can often come and bite you in the arse. This time, it did - literally and metaphorically - because the guy turned out to be as fucking weird as I was.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

"Well, that's up to you," I said, while in my mind I was screaming "YES, OF COURSE I WANT YOU TO GO!!!"

So the fuckwit decided to stay.

"I'm going to sleep for a couple of hours then leave in the morning."

As if things couldn't get any more uncomfortable. Thank god my bed was big enough. He wanted to snuggle, to spoon. I wanted to get up and disinfect my body before going at it with a scourer. 

In the middle of the night he started it up again, trying to catch me in the middle of a half-asleep half-awake daze, but I just pushed him away.

As soon as the sun was up, so was I, making lots of sighing noises until he said "good morning" with his eyes still shut.

"Morning," I said.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked again.

"Well... it is a beautiful day outside --" I started.

"Yeah, okay, okay... give me five minutes," he said, cutting me off with a very annoyed tone.

Eventually he left, stalking around my room and down the stairs. No kiss goodbye. Just a "take care, see you later," and a huge sigh of relief once I'd closed the door again.

Yes, he's going to complain to his friends that he met the biggest weirdo on the weekend. He'll never know why I didn't want to sleep with him, but at least he's still got some level of belief in his looks. And at least I didn't add an ugly guy to the list of people I've fucked in this life.


Saturday, September 5, 2009

When past fucks catch up with you...

At a Sydney event I recently found myself talking to three guys, all reasonably hot. Two of them left for home after a short while, but one of them stayed on. As the drinks flowed, the third hot guy and I went through our brief bios - you know, a more elaborate version of what you put on your Manhunt profile. His went like this:

"Currently unemployed, wannabe actor, lived in the States, was a lawyer, and claimed to have semi famous friends." (Sydney is all about name dropping. If you're not somebody then you're nobody, unless of course you know somebody else who's at least something slightly more than a nobody. You follow me?)

The guy was nice enough, hot enough, fit enough, but at 46 he was at the upper limit of my "Yes, let'sfuck" age range. Halfway through delivering my brief bio, the guy cuts me short and says:

"Oh my god, I think I've slept with you before."

In this instance, we were both revealed as hardened sluts; neither of us were overly bothered that we hadn't recognised each other. Nonplussed, we asked a few more questions ("Do you have a blue light in your bedroom? I fucked you, right? It was the weekend after this party yeah?"). Yes, yes, and yes. Sure enough, just under five years ago my cock was pumping in and out of his arse.

The most harrowing part of this encounter wasn't that I had forgotten a random I'd fucked (if there's a gay man reading this who can remember every single one of their past fucks I'll be surprised). Rather, it was the thought that I'd already come full circle in Sydney, a town which I'd imagined to be a bottomless pit of hot, horny guys just gagging to get their rocks off.

Soon after this revelation, my interest in this guy dried up and so too did the conversation. I said a polite goodbye (after all, when you've stuck your dick inside someone else then you do owe them at least a bit of common courtesy) and left.

It's a small world after all. But don't let that get to you. Here's a hot guy to take your mind off things.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

I thought I was going to fuck but then...

I thought I was going to write a post about my latest fuck. Then I switched on the computer and realised that all I wanted to do was go to bed.

So I watched some porn, had a wank, and hit the sack instead.

Over and out.


Sunday, August 30, 2009

Vote YES for Safe Sex

If you've stumbled upon this blog and you think it's another brag-fest about how many guys I can fuck without a condom, you're wrong. Diary of a Sydney Slut is a 100% SAFE SEX ZONE.

The reason? It's near impossible to explain how much aids* terrifies me. The thought of contracting it plagues me every time I hook up with guys - guys in clubs, from the gym, on the scene, but especially guys on the internet where lies about everything from age, to height, to cock size, and most likely to pos/neg status, tend to be commonplace.

Although I always play it safe, but whenever I've fucked a guy there's always a voice in my conscience that asks "Will he be the one who gives me aids?"

It's morbid, I know, and it really detracts from the overall fun of the experience. A psychologist might say I have attached feelings of guilt or shame to sexual encounters, but I beg to differ. I think that, like most Gen Y gays, these feelings are merely a product of the barrage of safe sex campaigns that are everywhere in the community.

Use a condom or meet a grim death. Use a condom when you fuck, or fuck your life up big time by contracting aids. 

It's stressful, but the worst thing is that these messages are right. Safe sex is much more fun than contracting aids.

Bothering to use condoms is less tedious than living with aids; bothering to avoid aids has got to be better than having to tell your mother "Look, Mum, I'm really sorry but there's something you should know..." God, when I think of that, I can just feel her heart breaking.

There are a lot of gay blogs out there written by "Bug Chasers" or "Bareback Tops/Bottoms" who boast about how many bareback loads they've given/taken and how little they care about their status.

Scarier still is that these guys hang out in saunas; some of them claim to actively infect other guys.

The scary part is that even with a condom, you can't guarantee that you won't catch aids or another STI.

That fun discussion can wait for another post.  In the meantime, play it safe and have fun.

Sydney Slut

* Author's note: I know that it's typical to capitalise AIDS, but I once read an article (or maybe it was a thesis) on aids and gay men. In it, the female author refused to capitalise it in order to lessen the stigma that A-I-D-S seems to convey in text. For this entire blog, should the word aids come up, I'll be doing the same. 

If you want to keep enjoying hot sex like this:

Then do this:

And remember:

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Fuck #1 - The Rebound Fuck

Last night I hooked up with a guy who had recently broken up from a four-year relationship. I knew this because he wouldn't stop swinging the conversation back around to his ex.

I now know his ex boyfriend's nuances, hair colour, and the reasons that led them to end their relationship. 

Sweet in a way, but I kept thinking "Yawn. Can we fuck now?"

Eventually we did just that, and the sex was hot. The guy was around six feet tall, barrel chested, big arms, smooth skin, and hot latino looks. Aggressive kissing on the couch led us to the bedroom. He took my shirt off, threw me down on the bed and licked lines up my body from my obliques to my nipples, to my armpits and into my mouth. Hot. 

For two hours the guy had his tongue all over me - on my back, my balls, my chest, my neck, my arsehole and my legs. He even licked the back of my legs and it sent shocks through my body. 

It's been a while since someone has worshipped my body for that long. I'm getting a boner remembering how he fucked me with his tongue for half an hour.

"I can't wait for you to stick your cock in me," I said, begging him to get a move on and fuck me hard.

"Oh I will, don't you worry. I'm going to fuck you so hard until you cum all over my chest." My cock was so hard, my balls were aching for release, but he worked me up and down for another half an hour before finally getting around to the fuck.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he finally asked, teasing my arse with his cock. I moaned something like a "Yes."

"How bad do you want it?" Clearly I was going to have to do some begging before he'd give me what I came for.

"Come on man, fuck me. I want your cock in me so bad."

He slipped a condom on and started banging my hole, and it felt like the fuck lasted forever. He fucked me sideways, him on top, me on top, my feet on his chest, him jamming my knees onto my shoulders to get his dick right in there. 

Another half an hour passed and I finally had my release. Riding his cock cowboy style I ground my arse back and forth, hitting that sweet spot deep inside as I jacked myself off. When I came it didn't look like a big load hit his chest. When I looked up, I saw that most of it landed on his face instead.

Not a bad way to pass the time.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

A little bit about me [or, "I love my cock"]

I love my cock. I can't rate it highly enough. Despite my adamant cock bravado, I didn't used to love it so much. I thought 7" was small and I never, ever knew that penises could be ugly. 

Fast forward from my youth to age 20 and meeting guys on the internet has changed all that. I've seen small cocks, big cocks, horse cocks, kinked cocks, bent cocks, dicks that are so bendy that curl down into their owner's arsehole when erect. 

I've seen botched-circumcision cocks, wrinkly cocks, and cocks that don't stand at attention 

Having seen a lot of dicks, I now realise that my cock is fucking amazing. Erect it measures 7" exactly (that's 18cm in case you're wondering) and stands STRAIGHT TO ATTENTION. Rigid, like a rock. It sports a huge, pink head and grows larger in the middle. Bottoms complain that it hurts when I fuck them. 

Yes. I love my cock.

As for the rest, I'm a horny 26-year-old guy with the sex drive of ten teenagers combined. I'm reasonably attractive - let's say 7 or 8 out of 10 - green eyes and short blonde hair. I'm not too short, and not too tall (5'10") and I hit the gym as much as possible. I'm toned, got abs, but I'm not bulging out of any of the shirts I own. 

Oh, and I use the net to search for cock. A lot of cock.

Monday, August 24, 2009

And so it begins...

Exoneration comes in many forms. For prisoners, it can come from a repealed sentence. For victims of circumstance, it may come from a move to another state.

For me, exoneration came when I re-entered the glorious world of Singledom. No longer do I have to feel guilty for my overwhelming sexual desires. No longer do I need to feel guilty, or to blame, when I see a hot guy on the street and imagine myself being fucked by him in a million ways. No longer do I cut myself short when I masturbate in the gym showers and think "but what about my boyfriend?"

And, to be completely honest, it feels great. I want to fuck. And be fucked. By a lot of men. Right. Now.

And so it begins...