s_u_ (or, this year in fuck-by-numbers)

In case you couldn't tell from the title, this is not Aunt-Sue-approved material! TMI alert.

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It's been over a year of escapades and conquests; flings, promising beginnings, abrupt ends. It's been some of the best sex of my life.

He was tall, with ice-blue eyes and cheekbones you could shear a sheep on. I was attracted to the scar on his face and his Teutonic syntax. If it wasn't for the black hair he would have made a chilling SS officer. Our jokes were lost in translation, but we fucked hard to the soft strains of Miles Davis.

I'd gone to Freiburg in hopes of getting into a different friend's Unterwäsche. The previous year in Cambridge, he and I hooked up on the periphery of the May Ball season. He was my first after the one who was supposed to be The One. It was liberating to find I still enjoyed sex. Other college residents may have been less thrilled by the discovery, broadcast clear and loud across the courtyard.

He was a Tibetan village boy; he claimed to be a virgin to avoid wearing protection. (It didn't work.) He was an ex; I showed him an old bitch can learn new tricks. He was a workout buddy. He was a law student with too-small condoms he'd bought in Japan.

He's an old-fashioned romantic who roped me in at a bondage event. We're still going strong.

She was recovering from an on-off girlfriend with a privacy complex. I sucked her nipple in the toilets of a lesbian nightclub. We could have done it then, gone home to her friend's borrowed sofa, but I was booked for backing vocals early the next morning. In truth, I worried I would get too attached. She went back to the ex; I went back to China.

I met Angel on the mezzanine at Salvador's. The gap in his front teeth reminded me of Johnny Yesterday. On his forearm he had the Chinese characters for heavenly messenger. A few nights later he showed me the ink on his back, a half-finished Caduceus: winding snakes topped with a pair of wings.

My crush on him ended almost as soon as it had begun. His roommate and I chatted about gendered orgasms and the awful lack of oral sex in China. For his birthday I offered him a robot wristwatch and a blowjob. In the bedroom I found out he really did know Tantra.

Afterwards we joined Angel and his girlfriend in the lounge. It didn't feel awkward.

Drifting off to sleep that night, I realized two things: I didn't know the roommate's last name; and the number of people I've fucked has now caught up with my numerical age.

Four letters. If I were a man, they'd call me a stud.