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Abroad in Taiwan: Getting to Know Myself Via Random Fucking

He was a guy who probably just saw me as a possible fuck and not much else.  But I was strangely okay with that.

I woke up, freezing, forgetting that I had left the AC on all night.  The blanket I was using was hardly any comfort.  What could a cheap quality hostel blanket that barely even covered me hope to do against 65 degrees of cold air?  I turned the AC off, knowing that I’ll have to turn it on again in twenty minutes.

I had resigned myself to staying in my hostel room just to escape the heat and humidity of Taipei.  I checked my phone, something I had begun doing even more often since I downloaded Grindr.  The usual “hey” and “hi” littered my message box with the occasional “fuck?” to brighten up the lot.

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I also see that a guy I had been chatting with had messaged me back.

“Hey you latin?”

“Yes,” I responded.

The guy, let’s call him Patrick, wasn’t much different from everyone else I had met on Grindr; he was ambiguous about who he was and wasn’t up for much conversation.
The picture he was using at the time (and probably still uses today) didn’t show how he looked or his build.  It was him, sleeping on the train, his head fully tilted back so that you could only see his torso.  He was wearing a large grey sweater and sweatpants. Legs spread wide open to showcase his male privilege.

“wat u doin”

“nothing much”

“im so drunk, come ovr”

“no, it’s too late… I’m okay,” I answered.

He didn’t reply so I went back to sleep. Fast forward to the morning and this asshole says:

“hey latin, come over… hurry bcuz check out at two”.

I finally decided to chalk this up to experiencing new things and agreed to meet him.

“Just remember, we’re not having sex.”

“okay… ;)”

That winky face did little to reassure me.

“wait, im tired from last night and want to nap… come ovr in an hour…. and rmember to shower”

I couldn’t determine whether the last message was a reminder or an insult.

He was a guy who probably just saw me as a possible fuck and not much else.  But I was strangely okay with that.

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“Be there at 12”

I got ready and headed out, leaving the blessed coolness of my hostel room so that I could hail a taxi in the sweltering humidity.  My shirt was slowly getting soaked while I waited for a taxi.  I start to think about how it’s always better to be prepared, no matter the situation, and decide to go back for a condom.  I go back, grab a condom from my stash, fully expecting not to use it, leave again  and find a taxi.

I showed the driver the address Patrick had given me, hoping he wouldn’t expect me to tell him seeing how my Chinese at the time was very bad.  Thankfully I was able to find the address of the hotel and showed the address to the driver who had no trouble getting there, no verbal communication necessary.  We arrived in a relatively short amount of time.  I paid the taxi driver and got out and turned around to a hotel that looked like it was straight out of a James Bond movie.

The building was at least fifty floors, with gold accents.  Huge double glass doors stood in front of me.  I was nervous about fitting in, seeing as I was wearing a t-shirt,  cargo-shorts, and flip-flops: typical tourist-in-Asia garb.  Two men in suits opened the doors for me and I entered a huge hall that happened to be the hotel’s mall.  Brands like Prada and Louis Vuitton displayed luxury purses and dresses in brightly-lit window displays.  I grew up in farm communities all my life; seeing all of this was something I only dreamed of experiencing.

Though much of the staff gave me passing glances, I manage to reach the elevators without much difficulty.  It seems the looking-like-a-foreigner card was finally paying off, even though my outfit may have indicated otherwise.  After a bit of wandering and getting lost, I found his room.

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It was exactly noon as I knocked on his door.  He opened the door. I was stunned.

Patrick was literally everything I wanted my ideal guy to be: Asian, tall, not skinny but not too muscular, and non-conventionally handsome.  He had round eyes, thick bushy eyebrows, a $50 haircut, and a little stubble under his bottom lip that made my knees quiver.

“Hey,” was all he said.

I went in and walked to the far side of his room, hoping to start a conversation that didn’t show how frazzled I had become at the sight of him.

I turned around, but before I could talk about the ride over he began to kiss me.  It was good, passionate kissing, the kind you know is leading to something much more X-rated.  I melted in his arms.

All my promises I had made to myself about not giving in to him were swept away and forgotten with every kiss.  He crammed his face on mine, his lips hungrily kissing me as if he wanted me closer, closer than our bodies would allow.  I felt the same; my arms were crushing him against me trying to get him as closer, oh so closer.

We slowly made our way to his giant queen-sized bed, never once letting go or parting lips.  He slowly lowered me onto the bed and proceeded to take my clothes off intermittently from our heavy and passionate kissing while I was doing the same.  We finally got down to our boxer shorts and moved closer to the middle of the bed.

We kept rolling around, him on top of me, me on top of him.  I was getting to the point to where I was raking his back from how tight I was holding him.  What really got me though was how at one moment it would be passionate and furious and then the next we would slow down and kiss tenderly while looking into each other’s eyes.  It was intimacy intermixed with wild sex.

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The build up was finally too much for him, and to tell you the truth even for me.  At that point me and him were totally unclothed.  I managed to get a full look at his equipment and saw that it was pretty average, not too small and not too big.  I was Goldilocks in the quest to finding the perfect penis.

He got some lube and a condom, the once I brought by the way, and pulled me across the bed to edge so he could have better “access”.  I was a bit taken aback. Considering I was taller and bigger, I thought there was a mutual understanding that I would top.  But he started going at it and I got completely and utterly lost in a world of grunts and breathless get-up’s and turn-around’s.  I not only enjoyed it but I would periodically reach for his thighs and try to get him to go deeper and harder.  Up until then, I never really liked bottoming; it just never felt pleasurable to me.  After my history with gay porn, I had this fantasy that bottoms were supposed to not only feel intense pleasure from getting fucked but also cum from it.  I could honestly never get past the hurting part.

I realized at that moment that it was because the guy I had been with may have had too big of a penis.  I know, I know, it sounds like I’m saying that I prefer guys with smaller penises, but I think that’s what I came to realize when I was Taiwan, that to me the “average” five inches was perfect.

This lasted maybe an hour.  The sex only got more and more intimate; eye-contact was something I really never tried because I didn’t feel comfortable with it.  But doing this with him, sharing the pleasure we were both feeling in tandem, our bodies in perfect rhythm, only made the experience that much more special.

I’m usually a queen when it comes to finishing, sometimes to the point where I wouldn’t let my partner finish until I did.  When it came to Patrick I didn’t end up finishing, but I didn’t care.  I felt like the whole session was enough.

Overall I was there for the full two hours, from the afternoon right up until he had to checkout.  The sex we had was the best I’d had so far for so many reasons, some that I already knew and some I had come to find out during.

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Afterwards, we laid in his bed together and made small-talk, exhausted, but happy with the feeling of satisfaction after a good fuck.

“You know, you’re really handsome,” he said.

“Maybe.”

“No really, you’re Latin and you’re smart.  Really attractive.”

Another point for him being an asshole.  He was really trying, it seems.

”Maybe,” I replied again.

“I live in LA, come visit me and maybe we can…”.

“Okay, maybe. We’ll see,” I managed to reply, all the while still reeling and trying to comprehend what had just happened.  He finally said he needed to leave and walked me to his door.  We shared one last lingering kiss reminiscent of the time we shared and he closed the door. I exited the hotel through the giant glass front doors that previously intimidated me so much, and a bellhop helped me call a taxi.

My encounter with Patrick was remarkable in that it was surprisingly telling of what the rest of the experience that I, a gay Latino man in a foreign Asian country, would have.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget those two hours with the random guy named Patrick.

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