NSA (Second Part)

"Ikaw yan?!?"

I browsed his Instagram before looking at him again.

He grinned.

"I know your name, but I can't recall your face." I seldom watch the shows where he sometimes deliver his stories.

And like those before me, I was stunned beyond words. Clearly this guy is someone I can't match, no matter how I prop my Social Media network. Even the gaming host whom he had never met knew him by name. At that moment, I just want to sink into my chair and disappear. Jake the Dog is too much for me.

But then, who am I kidding? I was trained to be like him, had I pursued what I learned in the university. We are of equal minds no matter how I drifted away from the profession.

And I do write stories still.

"So anong reaction ng ibang ka-meet up mo kapag nalaman na ikaw pala siya?"

"OA." He mimicked their gestures in an exaggerated manner. We both chuckled.

From there, I did my best to lift my image. I stuck with what I know about his work, and what I do in real life. There was complete honesty on my part, as people like him hound the truth. In return, he told me many things about his profession and the TV personalities he worked with: That a much despised anchor actually is smarter than the one who switched networks; of how politics nearly tore an institution apart. Much as I would like to spill the rest of the details of his revelation, every word he said was off the record.

Not even his name can be revealed.

Eventually, we both lost interest in the trivia game after spotting some contestants checking Google in secret. Jake the Dog and I were becoming absorbed in our little bubble that it no longer mattered if we were losing or winning the quiz.

We paid our bill and transferred to a watering hole across the gym. Over bottles of beer, the getting-to-know part became more personal. Engaging. I had to tell him of the breakup, of how I thought of the guys on Grindr, of how much I am enjoying the night in ways I didn't expect when the two of us competed in the trivia quiz game.

He too, felt the same.

Time flies when two people are having a good time. And just like that, it was nearing midnight. I don't know how tipsy he was, but should we part ways, I can still carry on and have a few more bottles with friends.

Yet, the events of the night was already set. Planned without words before the meet-up took place, I knew where this will all ends, if I manage to make a good impression upon my date. 

"Thank you for the evening," I told Jake the Dog.

"It was fun." He said back.

There was silence, followed by sly smiles. Someone's waiting for the other to make a move.

All that is needed is the invitation.

"Uhm, would you like to chill at my place?" I smiled.

"Oo ba." 

The details of the night will forever be untold. What I can tell is that I went home the next day at past 10 in the morning.

-tobecontinued-

NSA (First Part)

Previously: The Wheel Winds Again

He found me on Grindr because of the name I used in that gay dating application. I was Finn, and he was Jake the Dog. For those who watch shows on Cartoon Network, the unmistakable association creates a connection. Conversations flowed as we have one thing to bind us - our hook-up names - and on the third day of the Scorpion Week, just when I was wrapping up my three-day room cleaning, I decided to remove my account after accepting his dinner invitation.

"As a courtesy," I told him.

"You're going too fast," he warned.

Jake the Dog and I agreed to meet at a gourmet restaurant that serves artisan Cronuts. He was a bulky guy in his early thirties. He had a tribal-inspired tattoo on his forearm, uses a mix of English and Tagalog to speak his mind, and wore signature clothes that made mine look like they were bought from a thrift shop. Impressions alone suggest that his hypermasculine metrosexual vibe is out of my league, but it's still too early to judge how this hangout would end. 

There is still time to make an impression.  

It turns out, the first few minutes was devoid of pretensions. We were evenly matched - in the head - and because we belong to the same generation. I have barely warmed up my seat when the restaurant owner asked us to move upstairs and join their trivia game. Looking for ways to impress my date, I urged him to accept the challenge despite my limited knowledge of the quiz topics.

We squeezed the small talks between the gaming rounds. Flesh outs of the half truths we told each other during our morning online banters: that he works in the advertising industry; that he attended his Freshman year at the very halls of my university; and that, he is into intense sports like surfing and kickboxing. I was just at the tip of the iceberg, of knowing him in-depth when my date confessed his love of photography. When he shared his Instagram to show his pictures; of his out-of-town trips and foodie adventures, I was not prepared for the big revelation: 

That the guy in front of me was a TV personality. 

-tobecontinued-

The Wheel Winds Again

You think, “This is life, this is just how it is and how it’ll always be.” But you are living through something. And while, logically, you must know that there was a time before now, when things were different, and that there will be a time after now, and things will change, it’s so hard to remember right now: 

Everything will change. 

Previously:  When Life Gives You A Reason To Fuck

It merely took a day to spin out of control.

I saw it coming.

All these formless angst and anguish must take shape, and like an imaginary ball of lust, it bounced off over portals that masquerade as "dating sites."

So I was back in Wechat and Grindr, and by design, I also took a leave of absence at the raketship to make time for that ritualistic room overhaul, which I did only once this year. One week, to be exact. Seven unspoken days when I let the rage go unchecked and indulge what the groin has been desiring all this time.

At first, it was easy to get off, if you catch my drift. A dash of libidous words there, coupled with exchanges of photos in various states of undress here, and the horny self is satiated.

But it was never satisfied.

I had so much idle time that week, that i made double the rounds I do in a day. Soon I began engaging in video calls - with boys 10 years my junior. I would make them stroke their weenie or finger their hole, and at one time, I did some money shots to the delight of the 20 year old kid on the other side of the line.

On Grindr, I inflated my ego. I let myself get drunk on the complements I recieved from posting full frontal photos. A couple of times, the teasing almost lead to an encounter in a motel. And like I always do in situations like these, I find ways to retreat for reasons of self preservation.

Until the pent-up repression exploded into a real, mindless assault.

The first act happened one early morning. The Wechat guy sent an invitation to chat, which I accepted almost immediately. There were no pleasantries. Not even a request for a face photo. Five minutes after our introductions, I was already heading towards his place - a mere walking distance from my house.

It was a random encounter: a quickie that didn't end up in fucking (unlike the previous sextings where I usually tell the boys I'd stuff my schlong into their wet holes.) His was hung and amazingly stiff. I had a hard time letting it all slide down my throat. After the deed was over, I asked if he was a top. Without thinking it over, a nod confirmed my suspicion.

It was a one-time encounter, for I had removed the Wechat app after returning home. On Grindr, I have been talking to a chap who found me hours after installing the app. What began as wholesome conversations lead to dinner and drink invitations. And when one who enjoyed the other guy's company has a place of his own, getting invited to stay overnight is not far off the itenerary.

For the first time in two years, it was me who walked away from someone's lair.

The next day.

I would like to believe I'd be forgotten. That our tryst was a romanticized one night stand that you just shake off after taking a cold shower. But it didn't. Perhaps, realizing that both of us may have too many things in common, an invitation was forthcoming, and I got screwed once again during the middle of the week.

There were times that night, I'd take breaks from work-from-home job so I can steal a kiss and wrap my blanket around his upper body. He would show a faint smile before returning to slumber. Perhaps, an appreciation to a person he may never see again. In such idyllic setting, I was made to believe that it was possible to start over: that I would not have to use my own blanket when I take a nap beside him at daybreak. And I was convinced too of the possibility that maybe, if we hold on to each other a little longer, I might give feelings another shot, disproving that long held notion that it takes a long time before I get past the mourning.

But who am I kidding, really?

I did sleep beside him that morning, under his sheets with my arms embracing his hypermasculine frame, and in my dreams, I sincerely wished to return at that lavender spot, where I longed for the assuring hands of another and not this steely gloves I wear now.

For when I wake up, and that angst and anguish fill again the void once occupied by love, never will my care and devotion transcend into a full and unconditional union with the other.

The Fourth relationship attempt has failed. And like in the past two cycles I have been through, the mind dictates what I should have embraced all along.

That I am better off alone. 

You are alive in a memory. 

You, are once upon a time. 

The Illusion Of Things Never Changing

I Wrote This For You