Scheherazade

"I find you cute." 

A faint smile creased across my face after making a remark about his rugged looks. He was standing in front of me, next to the sink as we both took turns drinking a glass of water. He wore a neon blue cycling shorts and a grey muscle shirt, while I was wearing my casual night-out attire. I just came from a drinking binge with friends. My head was still woozy.

As to how I found myself there - in a loft - somewhere in Espana was neither planned or intentional. The host, who is about the same age as me (as his profile said) caught me off guard. I have secretly installed an app on my phone allowing me access to the blue planet. 

It's just a matter of time before I give in to my needs.

"Kung na late lang ng 2 minutes ang reply mo sa text ko," I confessed while holding his hand. "Wala ako sa tabi mo." I was telling him that once I get inside the house at that ungodly hour, no one, not even my boner can force me to sneak out. He kissed me before I was able to finish my sentence.

As I was browsing his profile a few steps outside the driveway earlier, there was something catchy about him that caught my attention. His pictures don't even say a lot  (his main display and only picture shows his hand resting on his thigh. Not even his torso is exposed). Maybe it was his honest evaluation of himself ("I'm just a simple guy with a crazy elusive ambition of meeting new acquaintance") or the manliness of his voice (I called his number to make it known that he was dealing with an equally straight-acting guy.) Whatever ease of ties came out of that two-minute phone call, one thing is for sure - there is an attraction we cannot deny. When he offered his place for a sleep over, I was half-certain to give in. 

What made the deed possible was the fateful appearance of a taxi cab in front of me.

It has been ages since I hooked up with anyone, and to find myself returning to the battlefield brought memories I no longer wish to recall. God knows how I pushed the envelope and tossed the dice like I don't need tomorrow. I played the game knowing I'd go home losing. It is always the heart that takes the blow every time I sleep with strangers. Maybe because unlike the Persian queen, whose head is always at the mercy of her king, I have no king to offer my head. There would be no One Thousand and One Night of storytelling for him to know it's not the expression of lust I desire,

It is the hope of finding someone (catching me in my wobbly footing) who I might find a lasting connection.

As the cab speeds toward our destination, my body jerks uncontrollably like it knew my peace will be shaken; like a cacophony of different emotions, I felt the pangs of dread, the bite of thrill, the slice of guilt and the empty truth of knowing I'd go home somewhat changed. Half-wishing to be stood by at a bend; to go home without seeing the face of the ka-meet up, was something I'd have as a consolation. "At least I might get a reminder that this is no longer my game," I said. But at the back of my head, a snub will only embolden me to claw deeper. It happened before. I only returned to the blue planet in search of another playmate.

"Sabihin mo sa guard kay Marc." He instructed after I called his number. He didn't reply to my text messages when I arrived at our meeting place.

Five flights of stairs and a turn to a corner. I found his door number and I knew there was no turning back. Closing my eyes for that one last hope - one last prayer that I'd at least leave his lair painfully content, I took off my mask and disarmed my defenses.

"Nagpapakatao lang." With a deep breath, I waited for someone to open the door.

Minutes later, I found myself in his bed narrating my tales with his arms wrapped around me.

It will be just for a night.