The Stuff That Haunts You

Would a stranger's kiss enough to ease the pain? 

The sufferings of the heart that desires for the one? 

Would his caresses make up for the lost absence? 

The touching of warm skins that comes with unplanned romantic tryst?  

Will his big arms reach out, and give comfort, even when you know your thoughts miss someone? 

How do you blanket the hurt, at the middle of the heat?

Such questions no longer apply to me, as I have callously learned to coat that fist-sized muscle within the hollowness of my chest. On the third day of the last breakup, the first lines of the epilogue was written when I made out and swapped sweats with the Weatherman inside my quarters. Maybe I have grown used to the idea of moving forward, of that possibility that there is no turning back when I'm next to another. In a way, it is the same reason I am having difficulty finding the new one.

For I have learned to embrace the fleetingness of every encounter.

I may come across to some as repressive. As I always tell that I don't jump into someone's bed when choices abound. But deep down, the passion within drives me to such spontaneous acts that rival those I've seen on the Blue Planet. Only that I probe deeper; search for meaningful reasons when engaging in acts of lust, and when I find none, I treat the orgasm as a blimp that is bound to be unremembered. 

Laugh at.

Forgotten.

But this spontaneous act I did recently reminds me of a scene a long time ago. When I invited a dear friend to come over as he was nursing the fallout from a break up. At the middle of the night, when we were passionately making out, (and I making love) I saw a tear streak down his face. 

We ended the battle in a stalemate. 

The words "friends pa rin tayo ah." crushed my heart to bits. Never will I forget for it was the last time I got attached to a first-time pairing.

And so I brought home this new kid and led him into my bed. And while I was attending to every part of his twinkish body, (save for his hard pole which I intentionally left for the delectable crescendo) I felt his lust being swept away by a memory he refuse to tell.

Or was it triggered by some careless questions I said?

Whatever the reason, he slumped in a corner, dazed and confused. Unable to perform like what he wanted for us to happen (when we were walking to his dorm, his elbow brushed against mine, a reading I never fail to get given my experiences). When the air of remembrance had become suffocating, he begged to leave, without even saying a proper goodbye.

Much as the event raises questions, all I can do is respect his decision. He apologized for his behavior.

"Mas gugustuhin ko na labasan ng masaya at walang hang-ups ang kaulayaw ko." I said on WeChat with conviction.

"Well at least, the need to hold someone's hand, and felt it, has been accomplished." I told myself as an afterthought consolation.

But behind those words is the acceptance that it will be the last time I will see him again.

Twenty Eight hours and two hundred and fifty views in the Hornet's nest, I find it fitting and poignant to end the incessant stinging in this manner.