Bad Sex 101: 我是你的人.

What would New Year be without the customary romp? Or at least that was what I told myself when finally arranging to meet B. for a fuck or two, the day after CNY. We all know how hard little quirks and idiosyncrasies are to shake off once they set in. For some, it may be the eccentric but harmless squeezing the toothpaste in the middle when brushing their teeth. For others, it may some OCD slap-worthy habit of rearranging furniture right down to a precise angle. For me, it's just sex after New Year.

I'm not picky, either the Chinese or Western New Year is fine though both of course would be ideal. A pleasurable habit that extended back to the days when the emoish Wonderful by Everclear was playing over Perfect 10 and MJ hadn't been hauled off to court for sharing his bedroom with one kid too many. I never really needed an excuse for sex, though I guess it certainly sounds nicer if one has a special day/holiday to back it up. After all banging away is a form of celebration of sorts. But I digress.

So after hemming and hawing for a couple of weeks, I finally arranged to meet up B. who intially contacted me on trevvy. A curious Bi or so he termed himself (whatever that means), B. who had an extremely hot bod claimed to never had sex with another guy before but was willing to try fucking cause he found yours truly attractive. "And you never had sex with girls before?" I queried. "Er no" came the awkward reply.

Which did set off a few alarm bells. Bis with hot bods and killer abs usually have had some sort of sexual experience by 25 and even if the said specimen is the usually conservative and introverted type, he usually won't just suddenly want to try it out with some random stranger he finds attractive. But you get all weird sorts these days and since it was really just for an ONS and his body was hot (even if he looked just average), I thought how bad could it be.

Surprisingly bad. Just when you think you've seen it all, life hits you with a triple whammy that leaves one stunned and gasping in utter disbelief. We met at one of the numerous hotel 81 outlets, sterile and neutral, my preferred grounds these days. For starters, it was obvious that either some photoshop had been employed or the face pic involved a really liberal use of angles in getting the shot. Whatever the case is, Mr average-face was below average. Not ugly but below average.

His bod (thankfully - though perhaps sadly might be the better word on hindsight considering the stuff that was to follow..) was extremely hot. Superficial though it may sound, appearances and physical attraction are the make or break factors in the gay world of ONS or MNS. Finding a potential ONS unattractive is reason enough to not proceed with the planned tryst. Heartless but true. As I said guys are very visual creatures. And all the more so when it's no strings attached sex.

So we got down to business. For a curious bi, B. had no problems undressing in record time. I'd barely shut the door when he started stripping with an eagerness I'd not seen since those hedonistic teenage years. His idea of Frenching consisted of a sudden violent face mash with frenzied tongue thrusts that was about as erotic as having a live fish stuffed into one's mouth.

For all his faults, B had a hot bod and his package was bloody impressive. Extended to its full glory, it looked like some wild sinister beast, twitching and menacing. I remember staring at it in mild horror and wondering how I would get that bloody baton up my ass. But that's about as good as it got.

Sex was boring. Boring with a capital B. For starters, frottage is not my cup of tea. Never was, never will be. Oh I mean it's all fine and dandy to have some frot but I don't comprehend the appeal of 2 naked bodies rubbing continuously each other just to feel those extremities when there's so much more interesting and orgasmic stuff to do like oral and anal. Unless you're cold and trying to generate heat in which case, hugging would be the obvious choice. Certainly, the more pleasant one.

So when B. started to whiz back and forth on his washboard abs, there was that brief moment of deja vu and I mentally groaned. It didn't help after I indicated that I was getting bored that B clamped my thighs together and began thrusting his baton furiously between my legs. Which left me flabbergasted. Was this bugger seriously going to hump my legs for the remainder of the session and think that was sex? Humping a guy's legs must be the gay equivalent of boob humping though I suspect half as enjoyable. After all why fuck a guy's legs when you can fuck his ass?

I actually had to pop the wanna fuck now? question (again deja vu, though the bartender was a lot better and certainly not as weird). That monstrous dong of his was about the only redeeming factor. Sex was plainer than vanilla, if there was a taste test for sex I'd describe the session with B as cream with a hint of vanilla. It's a little disconcerting to be fucked in missionary by a stranger with a massive dong who fucks with a deadpan face and has absolutely no other reaction except to grunt at regular intervals. I couldn't decide whether I was being fucked by a horse or a robot. Not that I have been by either (or have any intention of doing so) but I imagine the experience would have been similarly bizarre.

The post coital bliss was also non-existent. Though to be fair, it doesn't always exist in the world of post climatic ONS. Sometimes, it's almost like a commercial transaction. Tissue down, wipe off, shower, change, perfunctory good byes. I wouldn't have complained if that were the case with B. God knows I was waiting for the plainer than vanilla sex to end. Then he requested that I cum all over him cause he 'likes the feel of hot cum on his body'.

So he's one of the cum bath lovers I thought which was fine with me, I'm neutral on the cum on the bod part though I understand why some guys hold diametrically opposite views towards having cum on various parts of their bodies. To some, it's probably a visual aphrodisiac of sorts, the sight, sensation and smell a potent cocktail that induces an orgasmic high. For a considerably smaller minority, the feel of hot cum on their bod is simply a turn off. I'm fine with cum on the bod though I do put my foot down at the rubbing it all over the bod part. Now that's icky. But I digress.

So B. wanted some cum loving and like the obliging lover that I usually am I obliged. Then he got hornier and came all over himself. Glorious, sticky mess. Like clockwork, I prepared the Tissues for the customary wipe down, wash up option. Offered him some but he said 'Just a while more.' So I waited. And waited. And Waited. Then to my abject consternation, I heard soft snores and true enough Mr Plainer than Vanilla had fallen asleep, cooling cum coagulating on his chest and abs, little rivulets starting to flow down the sides.

Which was bloody annoying since I'm the shower after ONS kind of person and I'd patiently waited for what felt like an eternity for the guy to sate his cum on me fetish only to have him start snoring. So dumping the wad of tissue paper unceremoniously on the sticky pool of cum, I went off to shower. You would have thought that with all that horrific bad sex, nothing worse could have happened. After all the sex is over and done with, zilch, and I jolly well wasn't returning for seconds, right?

Wrong. I certainly wasn't returning for more but what happened next probably makes this the Worst Sexual Experience ever in all of my short 26 years of existence. So I popped out of the bathroom, ready for the Getting out of here in 5 mins exit plan that consists of a speed change and a hasty goodbye. All those sessions of sweaty man o man bonding didn't prepare me for what came next.

B. was awake (gasp) and lying there with his massive erect baton which he stroked slowly, the wad of tissue now plastered haphazardly over his abs and chest. And he grinned stupidly at me with what must have been his attempt at a 'come hither' look but came across looking positively lecherous. Does that disturbing mental image flash across your mind? Because that's exactly how it was.

Then B. still grinning, said "我是你的人!" Which left me utterly speechless for a good 5 seconds as I was trying to decide whether I heard what I thought I heard or just some nightmarish gibberish from an ONS gone wrong. For the non-Chinese readers "我是你的人" literally means "I am your person" or in proper English - I am yours, mind body and soul. Which is certainly NOT the thing you say to a relative stranger after a single romp in bed session and a particularly dismal one at that.

Not quite trusting what I just heard and out of sheer disbelief I managed a "Huh?". And B. happily repeated it. Twice. "我是你的人. 我已经是你的人!" Which left me utter dumbfounded and horrified by the entire debacle, a naked stranger reclining on a hotel bed, tissue glued to various parts of his body, masturbating his massive baton while telling me he was mine after an abysmal ONS and smiling like a retard. It was so surreal, I didn't know whether to laugh in his face, give him a good chunk of my mind or just carry on gaping in utter disbelief.

I managed a flat refusal and executed the emergency Gotta Get the Fuck out of here exit plan in a record breaking 3 mins from underwear to door. Needless to say B., his contact and subsequent entreaties to meet (to carry out more 我是你的人 duties) went down the rubbish chute of Never again ONS. Though I must say that experience with B ranks as the most spectacularly disturbing and dismal ONS.

So remember peeps, please never tell a casual sex partner/stranger whom you've humped for the first time stuff like 我是你的人while reclining covered in stale and sticky body juices. Not unless you want him/her to run out of the room screaming, never to return.

Thankfully, the next three guys were truly hot and made up for that abysmal session with B. Like a friend once candidly said, "The best way to get over a man, is to get under another one." Which my friends, is undeniably true.