#rawstories

Dating, darling, is it an art or a game? And if it's a game, shouldn't it be an Olympic sport? Just picture it: all the guys I've dated, competing for the gold medal in... well, we'll get to that. But first, let's talk about the rules (or lack thereof).

Every game has rules, right? They make things more fun, more challenging, and help you understand the goal. But dating, my sweet summer children, has ZERO rules. It's like being dropped in the middle of the ocean with a blindfold and a paddleboard.

I have yet to receive a rulebook for the GAME, the game of love. (Is that even what we're playing?)

I don't know about you, but I don't think people go on dates to find love. In my experience, it's more about finding someone who isn't a total nutjob, a psycho, or a cheater (that last one is harder to spot than a fake Rolex).

Gay dating, in particular, is two guys trying to out-impress each other with the same, tired lies. During the date, everyone's Mr. Perfect: zero baggage, amazing exes, no drug problems, mental health? Aced it! Workaholic, but with a heart of gold. It all sounds too good to be true... and honey, it usually is.

Social media is partly to blame. We're all curating our "perfect" lives online, and some people are taking that facade offline. I've met guys who are living their Instagram fantasy IRL, and let me tell you, it's exhausting.

But that's not even the worst part. The thing that really gets me is that dating feels like a never-ending job interview. Think about it:

I apply for the job: Based on my carefully curated profile pics and witty bio.

I'm randomly selected for an interview: If my pics are cute enough and my bio doesn't sound like a serial killer's manifesto.

I go to the interview: AKA the date, where I put on my best performance and hope they don't notice I'm wearing Spanx.

Now, here's where it gets different: If I don't get the job, I'm still open to a little "consolation prize" (if you catch my drift). In the real world, you don't sleep with your HR manager after a failed interview. But in the dating game? Anything goes.

So yes, I downloaded Tinder, took some flattering selfies, and crafted a bio that would make Shakespeare jealous. And you know what? It's been... interesting. Expect a full report in my next post, including tales of awkward Grindr encounters, unexpected hookups, and maybe even a happy ending (or two).

Ps. We're in 2024—can we normalize sex on the first date (or soon after)? Why is this still taboo? Sex is important in any relationship, romantic or otherwise, and it's weird that we don't talk about it more openly. Let's be real, we need to talk about sex, learn about it, and teach it without shame or judgment. This starts with looking inward and seeing our lives (and desires) with fresh eyes. Sex isn't dirty or ugly; it's a natural form of energy and connection. I want to know if the person I'm dating matches my energy in all ways, including sexually. 

Stay tuned, my loves! And remember, always swipe right for yourself first.

Cheers,

Ok, we need to talk about 69. Not the year, but the sexual position. According to Wikipedia, here's a bit of history:

“The term sixty-nine or soixante-neuf for mutual simultaneous oral-genital stimulation is an English translation of the euphemistic French term, "soixante-neuf." The term "soixante-neuf" has not been traced any earlier than the Whore's Catechisms published in the 1790s in France, usually attributed to the early leader of the French Revolution, Mlle.”

Just a little context for you, my dear reader. The thing here is: why are people still doing 69, for the sake of the Lord? I’m not going to lie; my first email account was “[email protected].” I chose the 69 because I thought it was fun and all that. In the end, I don’t like 69; I can’t 69. I’ve even stopped replying to a guy on Grindr because of it. He was obsessed with the idea of 69 with me, and I didn’t have the energy to convince him otherwise.

I just can’t. Is 69 good? Yes, but it is too much. Please let me explain. I JUST CAN’T FOCUS. C’mon, I need to fucking focus when I’m sucking a dick. Did you know that it’s an art to give good blowjobs? (Put that on a shirt!) I will write more about that later… But I need to focus; I need to see the guy looking at me, slapping my face, choking me on him. I want to listen to him moaning, calling me horrible names. I need that, and with 69, you can’t have it, baby! What’s the point? I want to give pleasure and see that he is enjoying it.

I love when my Top sucks me. Please, Tops! Suck more! For real, when I fuck with a Top who gives me a good head plus a finger in my ass, I almost fall in love. Damn. NO JOKE. A Top guy who blows you and fingers you deserve a special place in heaven. In my personal heaven, they have their own. I need to moan; I need to see my man sucking me, knowing that right after he will fuck me. Well, that isn’t the point. I’m here to talk about 69. You can’t have all that, boys! No, you can’t! No FUN.

But there is always an exception! A good 69 for a guy like me is me sucking his dick, slow, focusing on the head (yes, some guys like it that way), and he eats my fucking ass. THAT IS A FUCKING DESSERT.

For real, it’s like when you crave a good dessert and just find it. Do you know that feeling of matching? That’s what I’m talking about. Please, just do it.

That is a 69, boys, for me… Tell me more about you.

And remember, always fall in love with yourself first.

Hey there, I'm Caesar.

Think of me as your gay best friend navigating the urban jungle, one cosmopolitan at a time. I'm 37, single, and yes, I love sex—the good, the bad, and the occasionally awkward.

Wine, astrology, and self-discovery fuel my soul. You'll find me hitting the gym, then unwinding with yoga and meditation (or maybe some weed and documentaries). Self-care is my religion.

I've been through my share of ups and downs—insecurity, anxiety, even PTSD—and I'm not afraid to share the messy parts. Life isn't always parties and perfect dates, and that's okay.

Besides being a writer, I'm also an entrepreneur and a nomad. I'm an Aquarius with a Scorpio rising, and I read tarot cards. Oh, and I have Greek blood running through my veins!

This blog is my journal, a space to spill the tea on my adventures (and misadventures). Expect raw honesty, a touch of humor, and plenty of stories that'll make you cringe, laugh, and maybe even feel a little less alone.

So grab a drink, get cozy, and join me for the ride.

And remember, always fall in love with yourself first.