What I Wish Everyone Knew About Sex is a series by Buttertongue in which we recount our experiences that left us with a lesson well-learnt. We begin with our lesson and follow it with a story of the encounter. These stories may be funny, they may be stirring, they may be chilling but they are definitely erotic.
What I wish everyone knew about sex is that blocking someone after friendbombing and sex is rather sociopathic. It is possible to be friends after sex, it is also okay to block people you have had sex. But when emotional manipulation with the promise of friendship pairs with sex, immediate blocking is quite malicious.
Why would you block a hookup? An uncomfortable sexual moment? A piece of advice gone awry?
What about after friendbombing them for 12 hours? Would you block a hookup then?
Oh to be travelling through Europe in the Summer. To be in heat, unburdened and whimful.
My trip was coming to an end, my flight back to Australia in two days and my year abroad in Amsterdam fading behind me. Emotions were high, which is a rarity for me – I blame being travel-weary after two months backpacking.
Madrid was shimmering in the heat, stifling days quiet and fresher nights vibrant.
My first evening in the city, I was smote by a NSFW album Grindr, unsolicited but this fem twink was cute enough to not block immediately. Though after my solo-travels, I was reaching the end of my hook-up battery. Now, I wanted someone to talk to.
He was avoidant to a drink and instead was too keen for me to ‘show [him] my penis’. I know, a tragic choice of words. He felt it only fair since he had shared hole so willingly.
Entitled, a mania for pink, seemingly had solely straight girl friends with a disposition over Grindr message was very much ‘the demon twink is out to get me’, Pinky was quickly becoming someone I’ve avoided in the past.
But, did I indulge his slutting himself out? Yes, a little. He intrigued me with his identifying as a slutty little bottom despite never being fucked. I didn’t cave and send my boudoir penis portraits, he hadn’t earned them yet. I held fast and waited till the next morning to ask him for a coffee.
I was lonely and bored and so I thought What is the worst that can happen over a coffee?
We met and played that chess game between gays of whether we would be friends, enemies or lovers. And in the bright light of morning, it was going to be drawn out and starting wholesome.
Turns out he was Australian, from Melbourne, making his choice of using penis all the more confusing. I had assumed English was a second language.
Coffee turned into a walk around shopping, getting to know each other. Talking of the dramas that arose from his best friend’s week-long Italian seaside wedding and my nerves of moving back to Australia.
Then came the midday bite and the time to settle in the shade to stave off the heat with a cocktail.
His mania for pink continued with a Sarti Spritz and amidst the Spanish siesta gossip, I let my guard down, sharing way too many an insecurity, way too many a dream and way too many a promise.
We were both in a similar boat. Like him, I found a sexual liberation through Europe and admired how queer Europeans connected with each other.
There is just some element that Australians haven’t figured out, especially when it comes to becoming friends after hooking up.
He spoke of not having any gay friends and I sympathised. Before leaving Brisbane, I didn’t have any gay friends to truly talk about how bizarre gay dating and hookup and Grindr culture is.
I extended my hand in friendship and made the first move and gave him my Instagram, I was going to be the friend that I had always wanted. And I thought how wonderful to have a new queer friend from a city I am thinking of moving to. He agreed and we spoke of all the new things we could do as friends.
With few more cocktails downed, Pinky moved into his curiosity of my sexual side. It felt like friendly repartee and an acknowledgement of the bizarre nature that comes with making friends out Grindr. But dread struck with him admitting he was curious what sex with me was like and, frankly, what my penis looked like.
By this point, I wasn’t terribly interested in sleeping with him. He expected sexual dichotomy and wanted me to be much more of a macho top then I liked to be. And I said as much to his chagrin, I felt we were better suited as friends that spoke intimately of sex without ever actually engaging in it together.
We had spent enough time drinking in that square to move on to different topics, for a street artist to paint an portrait of him from a distance and enough time to decide our next move was to go out for a dance – it was the beginning of Madrid Pride no less.
But, a necessity was going to his hotel for a change of clothes. And, yes. I hear it now. But, at the time, it truly felt like we had landed on being friends that were going to slam some more booze and find more suitable lovers.
Little did I know he was gonna pounce on the chance to see my penis.
How he went about initiating it is a story for another time 😉
I was gonna put my money where my mouth is and have sex and still make a new friend. And, sex with him was… fine. I tried out this strict dom top persona he wanted from me, it was fun but not fulfilling or embodied.
I may have also been taken out of it because of a performative edge to him, a sickly sweet flattery. Though after discussions or communication in sex, I weighed it up to him being genuine and enthusiastic.
A sex debrief saw a return to discussing his anal abstention and asking about my past experience. I shared my first embarrassments, people I regretted sharing my body with and the moments that made the trying all worth it.
But his obsession with sexual dichotomy had him then telling me to shut up about my bottoming because it was ‘turning him off’.
I told him he should try letting go of such a restrictive sexual preference. I wanted my new friend to challenge and explore himself.
Conversations dwindled and tummies rumbled, with going out off the table, I took my leave.
Wishing him well on his flight home the next day, I walked out of that hotel hopeful.
Hopeful of a new connection and hopeful that Australia was maybe more sexually liberated for my move back.
I made my way through the midnight bustle of Madrid, squares buzzing with people finally socialising out and about with the city cooled down.
And, I was chuffed. A nice sexual experience after getting to know someone quite well? It was a uncommon feat for me.
And as I made it back to my accomodation, I went to text him that we definitely had been out too early to see the city in full swing.
But as that big metal door in that dirty foyer closed with an almighty clang, I couldn’t see that Grindr conversation that I had open 12 hours ago to meet him.
Eh, Grindr always glitches, I’ll message him on the Instagram I shared with him. Gone too.
I don’t mind being a little plaything now and then, but this was malicious.
Hurting my feelings aside, the obvious question is why?
Why block me after friendbombing me quite so pervasively?
And as you can tell, from how long this account is, I expected we would be friends. The best of friends? Maybe not. But friends nonetheless.
Like he said, travelling overseas, getting out of Australia taught him something about sexuality and platonic relationships. But I guess it was joke to him.
A blocking so abrupt hasn’t happened to me in a long time. Except for a cutie little king who got too embarrassed after sending me some nudes a little too quickly. And, rather than working through it with me, he blocked me. Are queer Australians ashamed of appearing too sexual?
Pinky was worse than a ghosting, this had me questioning my sanity. Where had I gone wrong? Had I gone wrong? Was I being used?
I’ll give it to him. He achieved such a feat. I was gaslit without him uttering a word.
Have a lesson of your own? Send us a pitch of what you wish everyone knew about sex 😉