A Rough Number

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So chatting about my semi-lurid history in Tub Time, Part Two brought to mind the perennial question “How many men have I had sex with?” It’s perennial in that while I never wonder “How many bags of Milano cookies have I knocked back?” I do occasionally try to tally up the number of guys that have gotten across home plate. It’s just something that crosses my mind when I’m not contemplating more noble things.

Here’s the stats to consider: I was a virgin, untouched (except some guy who groped me in a store when I was in high school, but really, that simply cannot count) until I was 21. Almost immediately, I leaped into the sexpot lifestyle of the pre-AIDS homo, one which I’ve clung to with only minor modifications through these thirty years. Bathhouses, bars, sex clubs, and various unsavory venues in Austin, Seattle, New Orleans, New York, L.A. (hey Mauricio!) Chicago, Palm Springs (Cathedral City, actually,) Paris, Rome and, of course, here in our own little cow-town. Over these three decades, I’ve managed to hit one of them on average per week, at the very least. Some of my favorites were the backroom of the Sunday beer busts at Jewels (where I found R Man and true love,) half price Tuesday nights at the New Orleans baths (I’m cheap in every sense of the word. I know. Shut up.) and Blow Buddies here every single weekend for years.

In each of these and all the others as well, I was plenty open to quantity over quality. I figure I connected with a rough average of 6.5 players per match. And this average is very rough. If I was in the back room and somebody just sort of licked it for a few strokes before one or the other of us moved on, does that count? I guess so, although I used to discount it entirely as just sort of an amuse bouche rather than even a true snack. And glory holes. Anyplace with those gifts of the gods were good for better than a dozen “hi-hellos” at a visit, but again they just seem so unimportant. I know some poor closety senator might not get anything better, but it’s hard for me to include them in the grand total. Still, in the interest of scientific rigor, I’m willing to do so. Plus, each Mardi Gras alone is capable of skewing this score pretty substantially upwards. So let’s call it 7.33 per week for 31 years.

Amazingly, I am more embarrassed to admit that I had to go to a calculator to figure this out than I am to admit I’ve been intime with 11,815.96 of my dearest friends. Is that right? I really am terrible at math.

So, am I bragging? Oh, probably, a little. I think whenever anyone speaks about sex they’re either bragging or complaining, but I also think I’m no where near extraordinary in this, for a gay man of my age, anyway. Some straight guy who got married to the first girl he kissed might come up short of that, but face it, most disco queens getting mail from AARP will look at that number and say “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

And so what’s yours? You know you’ve been calculating blowjobs and one night stands and sweaty little moments of magic while you were reading this. What did you come up with? Feel free to round either up or down, whichever makes it easier for you to sleep at night.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

24 responses »

  1. …something like 22. Which absolutely SHOCKED my ex boyfriend. He practically tattooed ‘skank’ on my forehead. 11,815 is…a substantial number. And I know you probably didn’t mean this to be, but when you did your shout-out to Mauricio I couldnt help hearing “HAAAAAAY!” in my mind. 🙂

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  2. “I think whenever anyone speaks about sex they’re either bragging or complaining”Wow, Peenee…sometimes I think you’re verging on Wildian feats of genius with some of the things you come up with.(Honest.)Anyway:3(I’m embarrassed more than proud… but…if I were being completely honest, I’d really like to have edited it down to one…ahem)

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  3. I do think this must be why your houseboys keep running away. You have no energy left for them because of all the time you spend at the tubs! They’re lonely.

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  4. Darlings, bear in mind I’ve been honing these skills for a while. A really long while. Don’t try this without supervision.And I haven’t heard any of the houseboys complaining, BTW.

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  5. I’m about your age but probably much closer to Kent’s tally. Though admittedly in the three digits, I am not that far ahead of him. I get bored easily and have a short attention span. The smells of ass and amyl nitrate lost their allure about 25 years ago, so I guess that kept my odometer in the decidedly lower digits. I don’t feel I missed much.

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  6. Where are the sluts? SLUT HERE! Gosh I never really thought to count ’em all but if it helps, the ones that slept in my bed left a notch in the post. Sadly there isn’t much left of my bed these days…

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  7. OK, let me take a rough stab at this (not the first time I’ve said that).I kicked off the habit in High School and I think my tally was about a dozen escapades. Then I discovered the clubs, did some slutting but was also a serial monogamist, so let’s say 5 guys a year on average between 18 and 25. Then I moved to Sydney and discovered backrooms, which upped the ante considerably. Let’s say 2 encounters a week to allow for the fallow periods when I was dating somebody. Take out around 4 years when I was in committed relationships. Carry the 2. Drop the average for the past 5 years to say 5 a year because I don’t really hit backrooms anymore, and I’ve had various regular ‘fuck buddies’….Ballpark, around 1,120

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  8. I think everyone assumes the universe they are the personal center of is the norm. Certainly I had thought I couldn’t be that far ahead of the bell curve. So far the average roughs out to be seomthing like 350 (thanks to TOA slutting it up. Yay TOA, tight on,) and a pile of bedpost sawdust.Oh, and a bucket of discretion from thombeau. We all noticed you’re telling no tales, Neely darling.

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  9. yeah, that sounds about right, FOR YOU.Your Jewel’s adventures were lovely (I even witnessed some of them), but did you have a special bartender who would hold your clothing behind the bar whilst you were “busy”? Yeah, I thought not…An estimate on my OWN “adventures” calculated somewhat below your total, but then I used some discretion, indulging only with those whom I found ATTRACTIVE.So does that still qualify me as a slut?

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  10. Pingback: On Demand | mrpeenee

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