Fubu Hits the Margin

I woke up that early evening to a text message:

Tara, dito tayo samin, wala si Kuya.

I immediately went downstairs for a shower; my mom might get back from the grocery store and that would bust my escapade. I took two pictures of meself: one before and one after the bath.

After gearing myself up, I checked my phone back and hiya~ two missed calls. This guy missed me, didn't he? I bought with me my wallet and a hanky on the way to his house.

I dropped by a 7/11 store to buy condoms and lube, since I was out of stock (read: sexless four weeks) and this night has a steamy and action-filled forecast. I took a jeep to their place which is actually less than a kilometer away.

When I reached his place, he had dinner served for me. I begged off the offer to dine with him, not that I didn't like it, but because I came there for a purpose and eating literal food was not it.

He looked a little disappointed. Did the drink have something in it? I don't know, and I don't care. I won't touch his concoctions. He moved towards me and gave me a hug. A tight koala hug. I was a little confused that I just went with the flow. No one was captain to the ship, and I let him start the engine.

"The hug is for what happened to you, I read in your blog," he whispered to my ear and he started licking the backside of it. Tingly. I pushed him away and I kissed him in the mouth. His breath smelled of mint. I took control this time, initiating a fencing of tongues. I tied him a cherry stem and he responded with a soft moan. We gravitated towards his sofa, we were still torridly kissing until he was laid down and I am on top of him, clenching the sofa for support.

I pumped with our trousers in proximity and in less than a minute, he manifested a boner. I teased him by borrowing lines from a porn read, "something wants to get out of there," pointing to the area with my lips. He kissed me again while he uncaged the snake inside. We both removed our shirts and I went to his nipples. I encircled it with my tongue and he let out another soft moan which turned me on.

After doing his two chests, I went down on his treasure trail, following it by my tongue down to the snake. It was salivating and ready to bite. I used my thumb to take the precum away and I started playing with the head of his cock. I don't know the drill because I'm not a good cocksucker so I withdrew after a minute. He didn't complain so I guess my performance was enough to satisfy.

It was his turn to please me. He let me lie on the sofa and took my shorts off after. He was a natural at foreplay: he knew where to navigate his tongue, the brisk transition from kissing to licking my torso, licking my neck and armpits, my abdomen and the treasure trail to the already hard member. He sucked my dick in a very pleasuring manner, savoring his saliva while letting some intentionally flow down the shaft, moving from the head to the balls and eating it whole. The lone sound of his attempts pumped more blood to my cock and I was delirious with his every dive and wicked slurp.

After servicing my member to its full hardness, we went back to kissing. I can never explain how kissing is vital to me, and he knew that fact before inviting me over. This time, he pumped while on top of me, creating friction between our groins. He definitely knew how to sustain an erection.

I temporarily suspended our tongue fight scene and pulled out the strawberry flavored condom from the pocket of my trousers. "Coat me," I mouthed. He gave a devilish one-sided grin and opened the pouch with his teeth. He played at the contents, pinched the end and unwrapped the protection from the head to the end of my shaft. I feel hornier seeing someone put a condom on me.

"Bend over," I commanded. He willingly did so, as he took over my place and I stood. I took the lube and toyed at his hole with my thumb. I felt for his time to relax and when his nerves settled, I attacked his opening slowly, until I got the whole of my dick inside him. He gave out a loud moan, but I didn't draw back, I pulled and pumped from a slow to a faster tempo. Our bodies were adjoined and he moved with my rhythm, followed the flow of my thrusts.

I asked him to lay flat on the sofa, like planking, and I entered him at that position. The tightness gave me a rush and I went berserk for I was about to come. I kissed him in the nape while pumping at my most controlled yet fastest, withdrew the condom and ejaculated at his back. He faced me and just in time, I spilled at his tummy, my manjuice. He started ejaculating and I kissed him until he finished his turn. Good charms, he smiled and I asked him if we could take the shower together.

The heat was not washed by the cold water flowing from his shower, we kissed and teased each other with the way we handled the soap. If we were on a glass encasement, steam would have formed.

After the shower, I dressed up and he asked me to stay for a while. I was puzzled, for whatever purpose I was there for had been met. I saw no reason to lengthen my stay.

"Joe, I think I'm falling for you," he said in a low note.

I looked down at him while he is sitting in the dining chair. I did not deliberate on his words. I shrugged. A fuck buddy connection is one with no strings attached. I reminded him of that on our first meeting over a year ago. His statement hit the margin, and so much happened over a span of two weeks that I cannot add this mess to the pile which is already present.

I didn't say a word. I just kissed him and said goodbye.

Five Hundred First September

If there is a sleeping pill, then you are the tablet that wakes me up.

Five hundred and one Septembers ago, you and I shared the same room, the same bed, the same blanket. When I open my eyes I would see your long eyelashes meticulously curved above your eyelids, refracting the little sunlight passing through the capiz window in my roomy quarter. The sight of your angelic, young face on an early Saturday morn is simply tonic to my hibernating veins.

We tread along the enervating garden of our youth: by summer, the May branches robustly picks its might, facing the unstirring sun with vigor; by rainy season, the June twigs fold themselves on the puffing gale; by calm Septembers, the earthlings move in and out of the ground to renew a daily need for movement.

Everything was going perfect between the two of us until one bizarre September, I saw you boarding a train with another man. I never asked, I never went to know, I just knew that seeing you leave on that train was coterminus with seeing you. It was an exclamation point bordering on an ellipsis and reaching the finality with a period.

It were those excruciating images of the leaving train and your entwined hands that are vividly haunting my sleepless Octobers up to this day.

You were the only girl that I hoped to be with for ten million more Septembers but the impossibility of a renewal is just as elusive as an aberrant apple tree in the center of the Sunken Garden, very unnecessary. Our future can be told by the dead leaf clinging on to a branch on the onset of a typhoon. I am waiting for the last ant to enter Noah's Ark devoid of further emotions as the Ark closes. By October I will be drowning.

If punishment is absolute, then leaving my sanity is worse. I only have you on my mind, and that is enough to cleave me for a million more Septembers of hits-and-misses.

The Twink-Cougar Love Affair

“belated..happpppppeeeee bertdei..wish u ol the best!!!”

There he was. After more than two weeks of hibernating in a deep hiatus called “Space Away from My Boyfriend”, he miraculously appeared in my facebook profile and gave me a surprise greeting I never counted on. If the medium is the message then his greeting was definitely an utter declaration of his preference to literally talk to the wall than directly to me which was quite consistent to his disappearance when he decided to join NASA to be an astronaut and explore his own space. Two weeks of no response to my messages which was previously accounted to his malfunctioning phone or insufficient balance to text to other networks (talk about cheap alibi), his uncalled for apparition was as sudden as Ricky Martin’s coming out of the closet: timely but unnecessary.

But more than the medium, it’s the language that gave me a feeling of humiliation on his behalf, the restricted kind that you get when while having a serious talk with a friend you see some slimy booger skidding out of his nostril. The way he spelled "happy" with 7 Ps and 5 Es, and the word "birthday" like a person who worships Salbakuta would pronounce and spell it, combining it with inappropriate use of punctuation.. marks.. and shortened spellings of "all" and "you" (cummon, he could have saved some effort typing Ps to spell them correctly ), I finally accepted what I had long been trying to deny to myself for two long weeks we were together: I fell in love with a jejemon.

All along, I thought that being 28 and having a five-year experience in my love resume would make me an expert in dating. But I guess my age and experience had only qualified me as a cougar when I got swept away by someone six years younger than me bearing an indubitable charm that masked his jejemonic tendencies. It was a whirlwind romance catapulted by our strong online connection. So strong I boarded a bus to Pampanga to meet him for the first time just barely two days after our first exchanges of messages in a social networking site exclusively for people like us (read: desperate lonely people like me.) On the third day of knowing each other, he introduced me to his best friend as his boyfriend. And that’s how, ladies and gentlemen, I learned for the first time that we were officially together.

Just like a futile investment in a network marketing, there was no turning back and I knew I was about to be doomed. There were red flags everywhere reminding me that the very foundation of our relationship was as strong as a cobweb trying to remain intact against the wind of typhoon Ondoy. We were so different in many aspects. It was like matching a kangaroo with a rabbit and expecting them to bear an armadillo. But I just simply brushed off these red flags consciously and unconsciously mainly because I enjoyed his company for the most part and, admittedly, I wanted to stretch it for as long as I could so it could last until my birthday which was just barely three weeks away.

Truthfully, I found his simple living quite charming. He would prefer to ride the jeepney over an FX even if the five peso difference in the fare was not worth the smoke and dust airbrushed on our faces. He would refuse to go to the mall for a date, but would be inclined to stay home where we could simply make the most out of our time just canoodling like slimy worms put in a jar. He was a generous philanthropist to his friends, giving away his Fossil watch or a bottle of expensive perfume in return to small favors such as helping him pacify an irate customer at work. (I wondered what he would give when someone would try to save his life). But the charm of his simplicity was quite fleeting. As days passed, evidences of him being a jejemon started to surface like panicky cockroaches on the wall foreboding a heavy downpour of rain.

For one, our conversations were limited to what happened to his day, usually the shit ones that took place while dealing with his customers on the phone. When I tried to inject some opinionated questions such as what he thought about the movie we watched he would simply give me one-line answers like “it’s good” or “nice”. And then he would move on to bragging on how he hung up on a difficult customer because he needed to take a shit. I judge a person’s likeability based on his passion. I asked him once what was his. After minutes of blabbering, he settled on sleeping as his final answer and then he laughed hysterically like it was really really funny. I pitied him at that moment.

But the biggest factor that spelled the difference in our age and highlighted his jejemonic inclination was how he handled arguments. Actually, he never did. He always stayed out of it either because it was too much of an effort for him to think of counterarguments or it was just too much of an effort for him to think. Period. So when something exasperated him, he would just walk out on me in the middle of a busy street and shut me off like I never existed in his life. When he said he didn’t want to talk to me, he meant it like a curse. It was like saying sorry to a statue. No amount of pleading and apologizing would make him talk to me again. One night, we were snuggling each other like it was our last night being together when without warning, he just shoved me and got furious with me as if I committed the gravest crime. Turned out, he got irritated by the stubbles on my chin that kept poking his skin. I plead for apology like a hungry dog begging for a piece of bone until I got tired and finally walked out on him. Indeed, that was our last night being together. The next day, he started being indifferent to my existence. He stopped responding to my messages and started barring my calls, which I learned later through his bestfriend, was his way of telling me that he wanted me out of his life for an indefinite amount of time. I never heard from him again until the day after my birthday when I read the birthday greeting I never expected.

I was staring on the monitor for a long time contemplating on whether to respond to his greeting or just pretend that I overlooked on it. But when I viewed our pictures posted in his album, I couldn't help but be transported back to the wonderful moments I had with him. The inexplicable mixture of feelings of giddiness and humiliation I had when he held my hands and kissed me in public like he was really proud to declare to the world that I was his boyfriend. The way he would respond, “I love you more” like it was the only honest thing he said in his life each time I told him I love him. The insurmountable joy I felt at the sight of his face while watching him sleep. These memories made me realize me that, after the death of a dream with the ending of my five-year relationship prior to the one I had with him, I could still lose myself and be in love like I had never been hurt before.

“Thanks J***. It's nice to hear from you again," I responded after some careful thoughts.

Surprisingly, despite his disappearance left unexplained, I meant it in a very forgiving way.

Postscript: In as much as I would have wanted to write this story, I found a better version. This story is not mine. I didn't make any revisions whatsoever, and credit goes to atticus1982.

Inevitable Twilight

Oxygen entangles with iron: rust
Cavities complicate the system
  of an industrial junk.


Air in mobility: wind
The blades provided relief, alleviation
  after eons of usance.


Now hitting the hay: retire
Copious hirelings miss the comfort
  only an enormous propeller can suffice.


Unstoppable future: technology
Air conditioning eventually advances
  giving the fan an inevitable twilight.

*a magpie tale