Love & Sex

Everyone I’ve Ever Had Sex With: Male, 25, New York

Pin it

"I went to the U.K. and determined to sleep my way around the country…"

Want to catalog your sex life for Nerve? Send your complete list of bedpost notches, along with your age and location, to Don't worry — we won't print your name.


I met Mark at summer camp — the smart-kids-taking-classes-on-a-college-campus kind, though. Like many guys there, he was precocious and probably too clever for his own good, which meant I was simultaneously attracted to him and competitive. While you might think the various security measures that come with dorms would cut down on teenage shenanigans, it was ridiculously easy to sneak around behind the backs of the counselors. (Plus, we all had our own rooms.) We didn't go all the way at camp, mind you; that would wait until the weekend of my fifteenth birthday, when Mark and other camp friends came to visit for a "New York City weekend." At the time, I was under the impression that Mark was incredibly worldly and sexually experienced — he told me as much in our never-ending AIM chats — but looking back on it, I think he knew as little as I did. Which is probably why the main event was over in a few minutes and not particularly enjoyable for either of us. Eventually we both got better, but our living two states apart meant this teenage romance was doomed to fail from the start.


In a sequence of events that sounds very much like a Degrassi plot, Jordan was a bully (and a die-hard Boy Scout) who outed me to my school, mocked me to my face, and would eventually start hooking up with me in secret, always followed by some variation on the phrase, "Man, I'm so drunk I probably won't remember anything from tonight." While you might question my choices in this tale just as much as Jordan's, I'd like to say in my defense that he was pretty hot in high school. These were probably the least intimate sexual experiences I've ever had, as we would barely talk before, during, or after, and I got the distinct impression that he scrupulously would not look at my face. (Also, it was always on the floor in my parents' half-finished basement. Moldy carpet smell is not really a turn-on.)


He was my best friend's prom date. And it was prom night. Because high-school me had the sexual morality of a villain from Gossip Girl, apparently. In my defense (I feel like I will be typing that out a lot in this list), at least she already knew he was gay when this happened. That makes it better, right? Right? Guys?

Rando College Guy

College was the start of my first and probably saddest slutty phase. Please believe me that at the time, I knew this guy's name. But for the life of me, I cannot remember it or locate him on any social media, so for now he will stay Rando College Guy. I had just broken up with my first college boyfriend — who, you will note, did not make this list — and was unsure about whether I wanted another, or a string of meaningless hookups. It turned out to be the latter, but I hadn't quite figured that out when Rando and I were involved. The sex was fine but boring in that way drunk sex can be, and the mixed signals I was sending eventually drove him away before our tentative flirtation could turn into anything more than two weeks of making out and one lay.


To date, my longest relationship at a respectable twelve months. David was one of the sweetest people I've ever met, but I eventually found his overall niceness to be… kind of bland. He was a virgin when we started going out, and I tried not to make it a mirror of my own first time (and, according to him, succeeded). It went down in my dorm room, after a formal dance where we stayed attached at the hip all night. Sex on a twin-sized bed is never super-easy, but it did ensure that we went pretty slow. David was smoking hot, so we had a pretty active sex life for most of our time together — until he found out he had to get circumcised at twenty-one. Shockingly, doing everything possible to make sure your boyfriend avoids getting excited does not do wonders for a relationship.


After David, I went to the U.K. and determined to sleep my way around the country. While I consider Colin the first boyfriend I ever felt like I loved-with-a-capital-L, we didn't officially say we were dating until days before I returned to the U.S. The first time we had sex, after a night of drinking, was shockingly athletic and more than a little rough; my entire body felt sore for at least two days after. Colin was incredibly smart, often funny, and what even his friends would describe as "a jackass." I took it as a point of pride that he was not a jackass to me, which sounds like a pretty twisted way to judge a relationship. But what can I say? It worked for us, and even when we would have arguments — not about us or our relationship, but intellectual debates that could get surprisingly heated — the sex would be equally passionate. Had we not lived an ocean apart from one another, things might have been different — he actually proposed to me right before I left. But thankfully, while I was stupid and in love, I wasn't quite that stupid.


Another exchange student from the U.S. attending my school abroad. (Colin and I were very clear about not being monogamous.) Colin called Ricky "the stormtrooper" for his ridiculously chiseled, Germanic looks and laughably gorgeous blond hair. We hit it off at a gay club, after which I took him back to my apartment, and managed to fall down a flight of stairs right before the action got going. But I really wanted to sleep with this guy — he was movie-star handsome — so I pretended nothing had happened. It wasn't a problem when we were actually having sex, but the next day I woke up with a horrendous looking bruise on my leg, which Ricky thought he'd caused. He ended up meeting his future husband the next week, which gave me weird feelings and still kind of does.


Another one of my British conquests. (And another super-cute guy — I had a really good streak in Europe.) I was shocked to discover that he was thirty, when he asked me to set an alarm so he could get to work on time the next day. I would have gladly slept with him again, but I think he was even more shocked about my age (twenty) than I was at his, and we never saw much of each other afterwards.

Simon #2

Yes, a different Simon. This was not my proudest moment: I was far too drunk, and really should have just gone home and passed out. Of course, that's the rational decision-making of a sober mind, so instead I went home with this very friendly guy to whom I was basically not attracted at all. The next morning, I was so dead to the world that he was able to leave his dorm room, go to class, and get back while I remained asleep on his bed.


You can probably guess by the sudden switch in gender that this experience was something of an experiment, and an unsuccessful one at that. The twin forces of Jack Daniels and a dry spell that was lasting way too long after I got back to the States combined to make this seem like a good idea. (Or at least worth giving it a shot.) To her eternal credit, she was game and treated the entire thing as something between a hilarious joke and fodder for a good story come the morning. If nothing else, this proved I was super-gay: neither of us had a good time, and eventually we both agreed to give up.


If you think Roger sounds like the name of an old guy, you're… not wrong. Roger was in his early forties, but still looked young — reasonably fit, nice green eyes, and only a little bit of a receding hairline. I met him through Grindr, the notorious hookup app, after moving to the big city and suddenly losing my gay social group. Feeling a bit depressed and a lot desperate, I decided "What the hell?" and agreed to meet him for coffee. After I decided he was probably not a serial killer, I agreed to go back to his place. We got together several times after that, but I started to notice the gradual introduction of some stuff that I wasn't super-into — I was not crazy about his calling me his "son," for instance. I haven't seen him in years, but he still messages me every now and then. Sometimes I feel bad about not responding, but I was pretty clear when I decided to stop hooking up with him. And, again: I do not need to be called "son" by the guy whose dick has been in my mouth.


Perhaps the most charming man I've ever met, Brendan was a friend of my brother's who was also an ace at storytelling, which basically meant I was doomed. I was instantly attracted to him, but I didn't think there was any reciprocation because he flirted with everyone and also had a boyfriend. It wasn't until we went on a camping trip with some friends that I found out that they had an open relationship and that yes, he was into me. I ended up spending almost every night in his tent (which was also much bigger than the single-person fabric coffin I had brought). It could have been a disaster — what with the small space and the potential for bugs/snakes/various other things that would bite us — but it ended up being surprisingly romantic. Not to mention the fact that Brendan was incredibly talented in the sack, perhaps more so than anyone I've slept with. The more we slept together, the more I discovered about his kinkiness, but unlike with Roger, this was stuff I could appreciate.

Want to catalog your sex life for Nerve? Send your complete list of bedpost notches, along with your age and location, to Don't worry — we won't print your name.